


so we're caught up in drama

by sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)



Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [7]
Category: Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work
Genre: Bullying, College, College Life, Deaf Character, Dear Evan Hansen References, Deep Repressed Gay Feelings, Drama, FUCK SPENCER'S RIGHTS, Gen, Kiersey College, Kiersey Drama Club, M/M, POV Alternating, Sebastián Hernandez is a Supportive Boyfriend, So Much Petty Fucking Drama, Sorry that was aggressive, Spencer What's Good??????, Theatre, Theatre Kids, also, my god, too many of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke
Summary: Dive into the wonderful world of the Kiersey College Drama Club. In which the revenge plots are elaborate, the cast of characters is an ensemble both in literary terms and theatre terms, and Quinn Cooper had better watch his back.In which: Quinn, an unsuspecting freshman, is just trying to do his best in the spring musical. Some upperclassmen have other ideas for him.
Relationships: OMC & OMC, OMC/OFC, OMC/OMC, Quinn Cooper & Cole Kolinsky, Sebastián "Nando" Hernandez/Quinn Cooper
Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9
Collections: Kiersey College





	so we're caught up in drama

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bloodstained_Carnations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodstained_Carnations/gifts).



> This fic's cast is made up of my OCs, the students of Kiersey College. [Here's where you can learn more about them on my tumblr](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/kiersey-college), or you can click through this ao3 series!

_spring semester 2019_

_january_

_spencer_

Today is going to be an amazing day.

And here’s why. Spencer has been waiting— all week, certainly, but also for months, even since the school year began, to see something he finally gets to see today. During all three of his years at Kiersey, the spring musical has been something to look forward to, but _especially_ this year, with so much riding on it. Today, the cast list goes up for the biggest show of his life. Today, he confirms his place in a role he’s been dreaming of playing for months. Today, he starts to lead this year’s cast.

He knows that the show was chosen for him. Dr. C is notorious for it— she’s not shy about choosing shows based on who she has available for casting. It’s resourceful, Spencer has told her time and again; after all, you have to work with what you have. It’s like how she chose _Book of Mormon_ last year for him— well, and for Reid, he guesses, but mostly for him. And how the director at his and Kelsie’s high school chose _Thoroughly Modern Millie_ for the two of them their senior year.

He planted the seed for _Dear Evan Hansen_ in Dr. C’s head last spring, an offhanded mention in a conversation, right around the time _Book of Mormon_ was closing. He forwarded her a few articles over the summer, just to jog her interest, and he and Kelsie even went to New York to see the show in June, so he typed up a review and sent it her way. When he arrived on campus this past fall, he was thrilled to hear she’d taken his advice. It would be their spring 2019 show.

His audition went just as expected, and he read for Evan during his callback. So this morning, when he rolls out of bed at five-thirty sharp, it’s the first thing on his mind, without a doubt in it. Today is the day he starts being Evan Hansen.

He deserves this.

To start his great day, he grabs a morning workout, like always. In the gym, he sees one of the freshmen who auditioned, using an elliptical and wearing pink leggings. She has curly, golden blond hair piled into a high ponytail, full lips, and tan skin. Her name is… Maddie? Mallory? He isn’t sure, but what does it matter anyway. She was in callbacks with him last night, and she wasn’t projecting well.

So he doesn’t say hello, and doesn’t even think she’ll notice him until he passes her as he’s leaving. She’s refilling a water bottle with stickers all over it, and she waves. “Hey, Spencer.”

“Oh!” He pretends to be surprised. “Hi, Maddie.”

“Uh.” She chuckles a little, and shakes her head. “It’s— Maggie, actually.”

“ _Oh_. Sorry about that.” He stops in front of her, and bends down— she’s a little short— to deliver a word for the wise. “Hey, by the way… don’t take it too hard if you aren’t cast in a bigger role today.” She arches an eyebrow, and he continues, because she ought to know. “There just aren’t a lot of roles that would fit… _you_ , y’know?”

It doesn’t look like Maggie understands what he means, but she shrugs and folds her arms, all standoffish. “Well, good luck to you, too.”

“Thank you!” He flashes a smile. “It’s always great to see beginners joining the musical.”

Maggie purses her lips and scowls as he turns to go. Huh. What a bitch. He was only telling her what she needed to hear.

Well, it’s her loss. Freshmen rarely ever get speaking roles. And it’s not like Zoe is going to anybody besides Kelsie.

He texts his girlfriend on the way out of the gym. Kelsie is an early riser, too, but she doesn’t work out in the morning like he does. By now, in her morning routine, she’ll be through with her shower and doing her hair.

They meet for breakfast every morning, but this morning, it’ll be a quick affair. The cast list goes up at 9:00 sharp in the Beckett Performing Arts Center lobby, and they have every intention to be the first ones there.

So Spencer showers and gets dressed, donning a blue shirt for the occasion. He meets up with Kelsie in the lobby of their dorm, and they walk to the dining hall hand-in-hand, leaving right around 8:00. It’s sunny out today, but still freezing cold.

“So,” she asks him, as they stroll down the sidewalk. “Any bold predictions?” She pauses to grin and bump against his hip, as she adds, “Besides the obvious.”

Spencer beams. He loves their relationship for so many reasons, but especially because they support each other so well. “Well,” he begins, pulling his stocking cap down on his head. “I think Reid is a dead ringer for Jared.” Which will be easy, because although Reid is unfunny at best, Spencer is used to working with him; he got well accustomed to it on _Book of Mormon_.

“Oh, absolutely.” Kelsie nods. “And I think… Claire, as Heidi? I can’t be sure, but—” She pauses for an exaggerated eyeroll, which is absolutely warranted, because Claire is such a goody two-shoes it’s insufferable. “I know Dr. C likes giving her principal roles.”

“Which I, for one, do not understand,” he quips.

“Tell me about it.” Kelsie sighs, then shakes her head. “But I could see Claire going that way.”

“I could, as well.” He pauses, racks his brain of the names on the audition list. He checked it religiously, to see who was trying to get involved, even after he had secured his spot as first on the list. “And… hm… alright, I’m not saying I’d _like_ to see Danny Cho as Larry, but given they didn’t run his part in callbacks at all last night…”

“Mm,” Kelsie hums. “I think you’re right. That’s a shame. His singing is suspect at best.”

“And his acting…” He sighs. “I hope he can pull it off.”

“Maybe he can.” Kelsie swings his hand a little, and they sidestep for a rushing student who must be late to their eight-AM class. When they regain sidewalk space, she looks to him, smoothing her bangs, and asks, “And Connor?...”

“Hm.” Spencer’s mind _lands_ on someone, but it’s an underwhelming thought. “Cole?”

“Oh.” Kelsie pauses, like she forgot he existed. Which is easy to do, because Cole, the sophomore he’s thinking of, is quiet and irrelevant. Spencer was surprised to see him audition; he played guitar in the pit for _Book of Mormon_ , and from there he always assumed he was a fly-under-the-radar type. But he read all of Connor’s parts in callbacks. “Well, he has the look.”

“It’s a typecast,” he agrees. “He seems… sketchy?”

“Right? Kind of a weirdo,” Kelsie says. She raises an eyebrow at him, and asks, “Do you think you could work with him?”

“Well, it isn’t like I’ll have much of a choice,” he remarks. “But who knows? Maybe someone else will get Connor.”

“Maybe.” Kelsie pauses, then smiles and says, “You can do it.”

He kisses her cheek, as they walk along. “Thank you.”

From there, they move onto a rehearsal schedule tangent. It’s not until they’re almost at the dining hall that casting gets brought up again. “What about that kid?” Kelsie asks, suddenly, almost laughing. “The really short one, the freshman? Could he beat out Cole or Danny?”

“Oh…” Spencer thinks he knows who she means. “Scarf kid?” When she nods, he laughs out loud. “I highly doubt he’ll be seeing the cast list. I mean, Kels, he’s a freshman.”

“That’s true.” She shrugs. “You did get Link freshman year, though…”

He straightens a little as he walks, because it still makes him proud to think about _Hairspray_ freshman year. “I reserve myself as a small exception to the rule.”

Kelsie grins. “You’re gonna be great, babe,” she says, and even though he knows he will be, it still feels nice to hear it.

Breakfast is very nice. He has scrambled eggs and sausage patties from the grill, and she has a fruit salad with unsweetened tea, in accordance with her New Year’s weight-loss diet. They have a breakfast table in the corner, by tradition, and they even see Reid when they’re in there. He’s eating with his girlfriend, and flashes jazz hands at the both of them, with a grin. “Happy casting day!”

Spencer wonders, just slightly, if Reid has seen the cast list yet. He may be a student, but he’s drama club president all the same, and maybe he has pre-existing knowledge. But on second thought, Spencer doesn’t think Dr. C would do that. She doesn’t even give _him_ advance knowledge of casting, and he would venture to call himself her favorite student.

So he just waves to Reid, because he and Kelsie are on their way out. “Morning, Reid.” There’s something like a shit-eating grin on Reid’s face, so he can’t resist asking. “Have you seen the list yet?”

“Oh, yeah, dude!” Reid kicks back in his chair. “Didn’t you hear the good news? I’m Evan!”

Spencer’s soul leaves his body. “You— I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m so excited.” Reid smooths out his hair before he dusts off his graphic tee. “Tell me— do you think I’ll look good in striped blue?”

This is not real life. “You can’t be serious.”

“No, tell him, Bri!” Still grinning, Reid looks to his girlfriend, this chubby art student who always has ceramic work on display in the admissions lobby. “Weren’t we just discussing how lovely my angelic voice will sound on Words Fail?”

Bri nods, with her chin in her hands. “Oh, for sure.”

Reid throws his hands up, all smiles. “See?”

Kelsie steps forward, like she’s about to say something. And just as Spencer’s heart is set to beat out of his chest, Reid doubles over and bursts out laughing. “ _Jesus_ , Spencer,” he says, smacking the table. “I’m just fucking with you, dude. Could you not tell I was joking?”

“Well, he’s a little on edge,” Kelsie cuts in. “We both are.”

Reid shrugs, putting his hands behind his head like his dining hall chair is actually a lounge chair on the beach. “Well,” he remarks. “I have seen the list, but it’s not up for another…” He glances at the big clock on the wall in the dining room. “Fourteen minutes, so you won’t hear any leaks from me.”

“Wait, really?” he asks. “Have you actually seen it.”

Reid shrugs, making a face like he’s just been instructed to ‘do a silly one’ in a family portrait.

Spencer hates Reid Burke. He’s never really been sure about this fact until today. It’s partly the fact that Reid is still kind of grinning, like this is some big joke— Reid treats _everything_ like a big joke— and partly the fact that he _knows_ , even if he resorted to groveling (which he will _not_ ), that he truly won’t get any leaks out of him. Even with fifteen minutes left until he’ll see it himself, it’s tantalizing to know that Reid is sitting right here with full knowledge of the cast, and won’t say a word.

And by the way, what the hell, Dr. C? Since when does she leak the cast list to students?

But standing here being mad at Reid isn’t going to make the list go up faster, so he rolls his eyes, as Reid zips his lips, and says, “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Kelsie adds, like she is less than enthused that she wasted three minutes of her life on this useless conversation. Which is exactly how Spencer feels.

“Idiot,” he mutters, as they walk away, and doesn’t even care if he’s in earshot. “He almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Spence,” Kelsie says, taking his hand to squeeze it. “You _know_ you have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” he replies, because she’s right, “but what’s up with Dr. C letting _Reid_ see the list early? How does that work? I practically picked the show—”

“It’s bullshit,” she replies, as they bust their breakfast trays. “You should say something to her, later.”

“I think I will,” he says. He’s already planning what he’ll say, as they leave the dining hall and head at a brisk pace in the direction of Beckett. It’s a quick walk, fueled by both of their adrenaline, and when they reach the double doors, Spencer takes one last breath of crisp winter air before walking inside.

Dr. C is in the lobby, crossing from the direction of Beckett 1C, where the board is, back toward her office. She’s in a multicolored knit sweater, and she holds her head high, a surefire sign she just did something important. “Good morning, Dr. C,” he says, with a chipper wave. “Is the list up? We wanted to be the first ones to see it.”

“Yes.” Dr. C nods, adjusting her glasses as she stops a moment to talk to them. “It was definitely difficult to cast, and… some people may not be happy, but it’s the best fitting for the programme, as we say.”

Her wording is cryptic, but it always is. Two and a half years in her inner circle, and he knows her well. “Ah, I’m sure you picked the right people,” he says, with a wink.

Dr. C looks between him and Kelsie, then nods. “I’m confident I did,” she says, and it gives him an extra thrill of excitement. A quick glance to Kelsie and she’s smiling like she won the lottery. “Have a nice morning, you two!” Dr. C says, as she starts for her office again.

Kelsie blows her a kiss, and Spencer waves. When they meet eyes again, he takes her hand, and looks to the corner where the bulletin board is.

“Ready?” she asks him.

It’s time.

“Never more ready,” he replies, and together, they walk to the board with its promised sheet of paper.

The anticipation is adrenaline enough. Spencer knows what he’ll find on the list, but is still eager to get to it, to see his name at the top. They round the corner, and there’s the list, fresh white against the board’s blue paper base. It’s only a few more steps.

When they get there, Kelsie sees it first. She leans forward, then recoils, like she’s been burned. “ _What_?!” she cries, loud enough to be heard inside the actual auditorium.

“Kels? What’s wrong?” He wonders if Claire beat her out for Zoe. He consults the list to investigate, and— and— _oh_.

Right around then is when the world stops turning.

*

“Quinn Cooper?” Kelsie is staring at the list, her arms crossed over her chest, a permanent scowl etched on her perfect face. “The _scarf freshman_? Are they _kidding_?”

Spencer feels frozen. He stares at the list in disbelief, reads it up and down again and again. He feels like he’s been standing here for twenty minutes, but it’s probably only been two or three.

_DEAR EVAN HANSEN_

_Cast & Crew List_

_Evan Hansen: Quinn Cooper_

_Connor Murphy: Cole Kolinsky_

_Zoe Murphy: Claire Deshaies_

_Heidi Hansen: Allison Halterman_

_Larry Murphy: Daniel Cho_

_Jared Kleinman: Reid Burke_

_Cynthia Murphy: Kelsie Wilkes_

_Alana Beck: Maggie Atkins_

_U/S Evan: Spencer Bergen_

It’s fake. One of Reid’s practical jokes. They’re all out to play a big junior-year prank on him. Everyone is in on it. Including the scarf freshman.

There’s. No. Way.

“This is—” Kelsie sputters, then shakes her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“I _won’t_ believe this,” he says, speaking for the first time since he saw the list. “There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Um, I would sure _hope_ so,” she says, popping the p in ‘hope’. “This is— this is a _joke_.”

Quinn Cooper. The freshman the size of a hobbit. Who wears scarves to every drama club meeting. Who’s barely been at Kiersey for half a year. Who just stole the role of his dreams right out from under him.

Spencer absolutely cannot believe this. “I have to talk to Dr. C,” he says, and it’s more an out-loud realization than anything, but he turns on his heel and marches straight for her office as soon as the words are out. “Like. Right now.”

*

But talking to Dr. C is a useless affair. “I work with what I’m given, Spencer,” she says, sitting behind her desk like some kind of supervillain, more closed-off to him than he’s ever seen her. “The cast may not look exactly how you imagined it, but some of the newer students showed real promise this year.”

“But Dr. C—” He paces in front of her desk. “I suggested the show. I practiced all summer. I thought for sure—”

“Spencer, I chose the show on my own accord,” she says, evenly. “It’s true I take input from students, but that has no bearing on my casting decisions.”

He throws his hands in the air. “But you have to see how this is unfair to me—”

“I think,” she cuts in, in this icy tone that’s usually reserved for people who fuck up majorly, and _never_ for him, not in his entire time at Kiersey, “that once you see how the cast falls together, you’ll respect the casting decisions I made as your director.”

He sputters and rants, but he doesn’t _dare_ disrespect her, no matter how much she’s betrayed him.

And so it goes. He’s lost out on his role, in _his_ spring musical, to some no-name freshman who probably can’t even belt.

And just in case there needed to be a cherry on top, he’s his _understudy_. Of all things. How _humiliating_.

Spencer’s life is over.

It’s not until much later that day, when he’s sulking in Kelsie’s dorm room, mourning his lost musical season, that the idea for a solution crosses his mind.

It’s _sort of_ her idea, but sort of his. She, at least, brings it up. “Spence,” she says, nudging his arm. He’s been scrolling mindlessly through Twitter for who knows how long, while she flips through her newly acquired script. “Y’know… you’re his understudy.”

“Well, jeez, Kels, I hadn’t noticed,” he snaps, dropping his phone onto the bed. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“That wasn’t my point,” she replies, scowling. “What I _meant_ was… you’re his _understudy_.”

He knows she isn’t stupid enough to say the same thing twice over, so he tries to read her meaning. She’s gesturing, like she wants him to get it, and on top of the day he’s had, he doesn’t appreciate being made to feel like an idiot. He’s about to tell her as much when something dawns on him.

Something in the form of very, very useful knowledge. “And that means…” he says. “I perform if he can’t.”

A wise smile crosses Kelsie’s face. “Exactly.”

“So all we have to do is…” He nods. It’s taking shape in his head now. His spring musical season may not be completely lost.

Kelsie’s fingernails dance over his knee. “You’re getting it.”

“Figure out a way to inhibit his ability to perform,” he finishes. He loves her so much. “ _Kels_. You’re right.”

“ _I’m_ right?” Her smile goes innocent. “What are you talking about, babe? That was all your idea.”

For the first time since before the saw the list, he smiles, too. He wonders if he looks as conniving as he feels. “I might be able to figure this out,” he says.

“That you might,” she replies, with a nod. “All we have to do is figure out what that looks like.”

To save his musical, Spencer is very much willing to figure that out.

*

_january_

_spencer_

It’s not that Spencer is _hunting_ for a way to sabotage Quinn Cooper. In the end, he’d say it falls pretty nicely into his lap.

Oh, sure, he’s on the lookout. From the moment the _Dear Evan Hansen_ rehearsal process began, it’s been the seed Kelsie planted in the back of his mind. His girlfriend is an evil genius, a fact he was aware of long before _DEH_ was on either of their radars, before the understudy business, before Quinn Fucking Cooper. Since the moment she insinuated this latest idea, Spencer has been wondering. What can he do to bring the show back to himself?

“You’re diabolical,” Kelsie laughs, at dinner one night in January, while he’s weighing the possibilities.

He smiles brightly at her across the table. “I believe in justice.”

When it happens, pretty early on in the rehearsal process, it honestly feels like a sign.

It’s the second week of rehearsals. They’re working on You Will Be Found, per order of Enrique, the music director, because it’s the closest the show gets to a ‘big ensemble number’, and he always starts with those. “So am I called?” he asks Dr. C, when he sees her in Beckett that morning, because despite her utter betrayal of him with the cast list, he still wants to be in her good graces. “To music rehearsal, I mean.”

She gives him the worst, most patronizing nod. “Well, I’m sure Enrique could use your voice on ensemble.”

So that’s how he winds up sitting in Beckett 1D, between Reid and Cole, stewing while he listens to Enrique conduct and watches Quinn Cooper stand right next to the piano.

Possibly the worst thing about Quinn Cooper is that he’s _good_. Spencer may be bitter, but talent has to recognize talent when one sees it in another. A bright tenor, Quinn can sing, and from what Spencer has seen, he’s expressive, too— clearly experienced. It’s not like he’s better than Spencer himself, but he’s competent— which is almost worse, Spencer thinks, than if his lead were stolen from him by a completely incompetent individual. It would be easy to raise a stink about a casting decision like that. But Quinn Fucking Cooper _is_ competent.

Spencer hates him. He hates Dr. C. He hates this production. And this drama club. So he’s sitting there, letting this exact sentiment brew in his irritated brain during rehearsal, when the magic happens.

Quinn is singing the intro. Again. He must have sung it at least three times already, and the sound of him riffing on the first chorus is getting old. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t look so effortless doing it, so light and carefree— _God_ , Spencer hates him. He doesn’t even want to be here. He loves this song, and here’s this freshman, hijacking _his_ show, singing his songs, playing his part.

And that’s when he notices.

Quinn Fucking Cooper is wearing something in his ear.

Both ears, actually. He has two little earpieces in; they wrap around the tops of his ears. There’s no wire attached to them, so they can’t be earbuds— unless they’re bluetooth, but, well. They look a little too sophisticated to be earbuds, and why, for that matter, would he be wearing earbuds in the middle of rehearsal?

He debates, for a second, asking about it now. In fact, he even turns to Reid, to start to do just that. Reid is studying his script, unlike Cole, on the other side of him. Cole, by the way, clearly isn’t taking this seriously, because he’s hunched over, writing in some kind of notebook. Either Cole has always been an emo creep, or the spirit of Connor Murphy has really possessed him ever since he got the part.

Reid is similarly inclined to his character’s personality, but then again, Reid has always been a jackass who takes nothing seriously, so what’s new. When he catches Spencer looking his way, he flashes a big thumbs-up and a too-wide grin.

It’s only then that Spencer realizes Reid is about to sing. He knows this because always-flat Maggie is doing her bit solo. Kelsie is sitting next to Maggie, half-hiding her grimace in her script binder. Spencer feels bad for her.

Aaaaand here comes the ensemble background line. Spencer resolves that he’ll talk to Reid later, and reluctantly launches into the tenor line.

_Oh, someone will come running…_

After rehearsal, he sees Reid stick around, laughing with Cole. He waits until he sees Quinn leave, wrapping himself in his obnoxious striped scarf, before he dares to move in on their conversation. “Spencer B. Bergen,” Reid says, all wiseass smiles, as he approaches. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He rolls his eyes. “I have to ask you something,” he says.

Apparently, this is not the right thing to say, because it triggers another bout of idiocy. “Ask,” Reid says, spreading his arms, “and it shall be given unto you.” Cole snickers, and Spencer scoffs. The problem with talking to Reid is that he’s about as capable of taking things seriously as a five-year-old who’s all hyped up on sugar.

Spencer gathers as much composure as he can in the face of this much delinquency, and lowers his voice, even though his subject of inquiry has left the room. “What are those things in Quinn’s ears?”

Reid blinks at him, pushing his wiry glasses up the bridge of his nose, like this is a stupid question. “Hearing aids, dude,” he says. “He’s deaf.”

This is weird on a number of levels. “He’s what?” It doesn’t even occur to him right away that he can _use_ this.

“Deaf,” Reid repeats, gesturing to his own ear. “Y’know, like… he can’t hear?”

“But…” Spencer pauses. “How can he sing?”

Reid snorts a little. “Well, if you can talk, you can sing.”

That’s entirely untrue, and Reid is walking proof of it, but that’s beside the point. This still doesn’t make sense. “But… how does he _talk_?”

Now Reid laughs, openly. For an idiot, Reid is pretty good at making other people feel like idiots. “Because he wears hearing aids?”

“So…” If he talks because he wears hearing aids, then that means… “He can’t hear without them?”

Reid puts his hands on his hips. “Spence, are you dense?” he asks, which maybe rhymes on purpose, which would be stupid, but Reid is stupid, so whatever. “I _know_ you’re not that slow. What the hell are you up to?”

Cole, who has taken to scrolling through his phone, makes a noise like he’s holding back a laugh. When he looks to him, Spencer finds a hastily bitten-back smile as evidence. _God_ , Cole is a weirdo. “Shut up, creep,” he snaps, and immediately, like they’re gay lovers or something, Reid springs to defend him.

“Hey, _ease off_ , Spencer. Jesus.” Reid scowls at him. “I don’t know what got your panties into a knot today, but there’s no need to be a dick about it.”

Spencer seethes, but he knows it’s not worth it. Talking to Reid, after acquiring the information he needs, is a waste of his time, and he may be losing brain cells because of it. “Whatever, Reid.”

As he’s walking away, the irritation fades, and his satisfaction grows. Quinn Fucking Cooper wears hearing aids. Hearing aids that grant him the ability to speak and sing in mainstream English. Which means that without them…

That dumb freshman is powerless to steal Spencer’s role from him.

_Jackpot._

He waits to tell Kelsie until they’re safely out of everyone’s earshot, and when they are, he pulls her into Beckett 1C, which is dark for the night. She must know he has something exciting for her, because when he turns around from turning the light on, she’s grinning up at him. “What?” she asks.

He wonders if he looks as triumphant as he feels. “Kels,” he whispers. “He wears _hearing aids_.”

He watches the gears turn in Kelsie’s head. It isn’t her fault. She’s always been a little slower than he is. She is a girl, and everything.

“Quinn does?” she asks, after a second.

He nods rapidly. “Completely deaf without them.”

Kelsie breaks out in a huge grin. “No shit,” she says. “So if he doesn’t have them…”

“He can’t perform,” Spencer finishes.

They share a silent epiphany of a grin. Then he can’t help it; he kisses her like they’ve won the lottery.

This evening is _seriously_ shaping up, and his show just might be saved.

*

_march_

_quinn_

_night 2 of performances_

_1:40 pm_

Opening night of _Dear Evan Hansen_ is a huge, smashing success.

It’s maybe impossible for a performance to go _perfectly_ , but Quinn thinks that opening night comes pretty close to it. And that’s not even in terms of his own performance alone— one person does not a musical make, and the entire cast puts on a fantastic performance to open the show. He’s proud and overjoyed at the same time. His first show in college, and he couldn’t be happier.

But one of the hardest things to do, he knows, is to match a near-perfect opening on night two. To keep that momentum, to outdo yourself, even. Quinn knows it’ll be hard, but the least he can do is try his very best to match his own performance, or to best it.

So with this in mind, that’s how he enters night two of the show. It’s only fitting, after such a great opening, that _that’s_ when something goes wrong.

“Have a great show, baby,” Sebastián says, as they’re parting for the day. They’re outside Meelia Arena, in the parking lot, where the hockey team’s bus is waiting to take him off to Syracuse for the night. Quinn always walks him to the road game bus.

“Thank you, honey.” Quinn fixes the scarf he made Sebastián for Christmas. Paired with his game-day suit and burgundy tie, it looks incredibly handsome on him. Red is undoubtedly his color. “Good luck in your game,” he adds, resting his hand on his chest near the spot where the tie is knotted.

Sebastián smiles. “Thanks,” he says, and then gives him a nice, big goodbye kiss. Quinn stands on the tiptoes of his Oxfords, and revels in the sweetness. When they pull away, Sebastián adds, “And break an arm!”

Quinn laughs into his chest, which doubles as getting a hug. ‘Break an arm’ is Sebastián’s _Dear Evan Hansen_ equivalent of ‘break a leg’, and it’s the cutest thing. It started the night of his last dress rehearsal, three days ago. “Thank you.”

Sebastián kisses the top of his head several times, and gives him a big squeeze before they let go. “I’ll text you, _cariño_ ,” he says, and then, from the bus at least twenty yards away, the hockey brigade attacks. Right on schedule.

“Nanny!”

“Hey, big simp!”

“Let’s get a move on!”

Ben and Remy are hanging out the windows, and the captain, Parker, at the doorway, looks like he’s laughing. Sebastián’s eyes light up, and he sweeps Quinn near off his feet in a kiss that’s clearly meant to stick it to the man. Er, men. Quinn laughs and swats him, when he gets released. “Sebastián!”

“Gross!” Remy calls. “PDA! Go to church. Find Jesus!”

“That’s a fucking _foooooiine_ ,” Ben adds.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, baby,” Sebastián tells him, walking backwards toward the bus to face the hockey jury. “Kick ass! Go and make them cry!”

Quinn can’t stop smiling. “I’ll do my very best,” he says, and that’s a promise he intends to keep. He’s still proud of himself for making Sebastián cry when he came to see the show last night.

Once Sebastián— with one more wave— is on the bus, the boys shout out the window. It’s like being serenaded, except instead of nice singing, it’s just jocks shouting.

From Parker, on the ground: “Good luck, Quinn!”

And then, from the windows:

“Wreck shit, Mini!” (Obviously Ben.)

“Kick ass; take names.” (Remy.)

“Byeeee, Quinn!” (Alex.)

“Break a leg!” (Jordan and Sam, simultaneously.)

“Have a good show!” (Ville.)

“Peace out, frosh!” (Rocco.)

Et cetera.

They’re like a small army, and Quinn thrills with their energy to support him. He waves at the bus. “Goodbye, everyone!” he calls. “I hope you win your game.”

Sebastián blows him a kiss from his window with Ben, and with that, the bus is pulling away, and they’re off on their latest hockey adventure.

Quinn turns to make the walk back to Wilson Hall. His homework, in anticipation of this weekend being busy, is all finished. Call is at six. He has the entire rest of the afternoon to prepare for the evening. Nick, his senior pre-med student mentor, is coming to tonight’s show.

He’s going to do his very best to top last night’s performance.

But Quinn has no idea what he’s in for.

*

_spencer_

_4:09 pm_

Opening night, Spencer decided early on, would be too conspicuous.

As much as it was difficult to sit back and let Quinn Fucking Cooper open the show, he knew it wouldn’t be wise to try and interfere on the first night. It would look too suspicious, he decided, too blatant and obvious. So he relegates himself to his beat ensemble part and lets that stupid freshman take the lead. Quinn goes and does a _great job_ , of _course_ , which just adds fuel to Spencer’s fire.

By night two, he’s ready. He’s more than ready. He’s been waiting _months_ for this— since casting day, since rehearsals began, since that day in music rehearsal where he noticed Quinn’s stupid hearing aids. He can’t bear to go through another night of everyone fawning over Quinn, congratulating him for standing in Spencer’s shoes.

So he _uses_ opening night. Combined with the experience of tech week, opening night is a good way to gather relevant informational material. Like it’s a research project for one of his compsci or business classes.

“I’m doing it tonight,” he tells Kelsie, two hours before call, while they’re hanging out in her student suite.

Kelsie nods, mid-sip of unsweetened green tea. She has a face mask on; it’s her between-shows ritual. “Do you have a plan?”

He has _more_ than a plan, thanks to his close observation last night and during dress rehearsals. It’s not hard to spy on the lead and his prissy pre-show habits when you’re a useless, made-up ensemble member because Enrique ‘could use your voice.’

He turns his knees toward Kelsie; they’re alone on the couch in the common space she shares with her three annoying roommates. “He has this ritual,” Spencer explains. “Before the show, he takes them out while he—” He makes air quotes. “‘Goes to get into character.’”

Kelsie snickers a little. “What, like meditating?”

“Hell if I know.” He feels kind of like a biologist, observing the wild Quinn Cooper in his natural habitat. “All I know is, last night after sound check, I watched him take them off and put them on the table in the dressing room. He left them there for, like, fifteen whole minutes.”

Kelsie grins. She does look beautiful when they’re making a mutually beneficial plan. Even with an ugly green face mask on. She’s dollar-store Elphaba, but blond. “ _Perfect_.”

He won’t even lie. It’s exciting. He can already see himself onstage, wearing that blue polo.

*

_quinn_

_6:05 pm_

At call, Dr. C congregates them in the first two rows of the house. This is one of Quinn’s favorite parts of the night of a show; there’s something so nice about the cast and crew all being in one place, like the calm before the storm. He sits in the front row, with Maggie and then Claire to one side, and Cole and Reid to the other.

“My friends,” says Dr. C. The house lights are on, but Ezra’s ghost light is shining onstage. Dr. C is flanked by the music director, Enrique, and her assistant head of the theatre department, Nicki. Jhiron, resident Sound Guy, is also sitting on the stage, and so is Ellie, the stage manager. Way beyond them, Quinn can see Aiko, the senior who designs all the sets for shows, messing around with one of the giant screens onstage.

“Congratulations on a successful opening night,” Dr. C continues, with this glowing smile. There’s a little buzz that travels through their small group. Claire smiles; Maggie reaches to bump Quinn’s fist; Reid mumbles, “Good work, team,” and Cole mimes punching the air. Quinn hears, over his shoulder, a small sigh from Spencer, who has spent this entire production acting like he has somewhere much better to be at all times.

A bitter attitude does not a good cooperator make, but Quinn hasn’t let Spencer affect his experience with this show, this group. Sitting here in the house, surrounded by cast and crewmates, it hits him how unprepared he is for all of this to be over. He’s gotten used to this group, to late nights in Beckett, to wearing the blue polo. It always hurts for a production to end, and it _always_ sneaks up on him.

But, he reminds himself, he still has four more performances to go. He won’t rush it along.

“I normally don’t do notes between back-to-back shows,” Dr. C explains, “because it’s my personal philosophy not to interfere with the mojo of a show once the run has begun.” She pauses to dust off her shawl. Dr. C is something of a shawl queen; she wears them more than she wears regular shirts. “However,” she adds. “I will now take the opportunity, while I have you all in one place, to open the floor for any questions or concerns anybody might have.”

This must be the end of her little speech, because she leans backwards and spreads her arms out.

For a moment, nothing. Quinn tries to rack his brain, but he doesn’t have any major questions or concerns. At least, not at this moment. Which… should be a good thing, right?

The quiet is a little odd— surely it’s not the case that _nobody_ in this entire cast and crew has a single thing they want to talk about? But then Jhiron sits forward, long legs dangling off the front of the stage, and raises his hand. “Regarding mics,” he starts. “Just, like, reminding you guys to come right to me and turn in your mic at the end of the show. The sooner I get them all put away, the less of a chance I’ll end up hunting you down.”

Quinn nods as he speaks— this is not the first time Jhiron has given them his little mic crash course, and it probably won’t be the last. Reid tips back in his chair to remark, “What if we want you to come and hunt us down?”

Jhiron, with a dead straight face, doesn’t miss a beat. “I will fucking kill you, Reid.”

“Do it,” Reid spits. “Coward.”

While a few people laugh, including Quinn, because their friendship built on vehement insults will never not be equal parts absurd and funny, Jhiron takes a long breath and adjusts his beanie. His dreadlocks are pulled back into a big ponytail today. “Okay, so…” He puts his hands together like he’s making an evil plan, but there’s literally nothing evil about Jhiron. Just an air of quiet mystery at all times. “There’s that, and…” He pauses just a second like he’s thinking, and his eyes fall right on Quinn. “Shrimp, I meant to ask you,” he says. Quinn smiles. Jhiron— who is at least six feet and a few inches tall— has taken to calling him ‘shrimp’, but it’s never felt mean-spirited. It feels more like a friendly nickname.

Jhiron gestures to his own forehead. “Did you have any mic tape issues last night?”

“Oh!” Quinn flashes a thumbs-up. “None at all, I’m glad to report.” Everyone else has been mic’d behind their ears, but— as has always been the case for him— his hearing aids make that virtually impossible, so Jhiron has been helping him tape his mic up and over his forehead. “I barely even knew it was there.”

Jhiron nods steadily. “Nice.” He looks around to the group and adds, “I did get more mic tape, for all your greedy asses.”

Maggie clasps her hands. “I love you, Jhiron.”

Cole bows his head. “Thank you, lord and savior.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jhiron waves the adoring underclassmen off. “You can send your gratitude in cash donations.”

“Checks payable to the club board, actually,” Ellie says, as she’s writing on her infamous stage manager clipboard.

“Ooh, I agree,” Reid says.

Jhiron snorts, then, with one last scan over the group, nods and looks to Dr. C. “That’s all from me.”

“Perfect, Jhiron. Thank you.” She pauses. “Others?”

Ellie points her pen to Cole. “So help me God,” she whispers. “If I find your messenger bag on the ground backstage one more time—”

Cole laughs. “It’s not— I’m sorry!” he says. “I’m sorry. I was rushing, and— okay.” He fixes his glasses, still kind of laughing, as Ellie mimes slitting her throat with her pen. “My bad,” Cole tells her. “I’m sorry.”

Ellie makes ‘I’m watching you’ hands at him.

Dr. C looks to Enrique and then to Nicki. “Anything from either of you?”

Enrique makes an elaborate hand gesture, but it’s gibberish as far as sign is concerned. “Project, project, project!” he sings. “Danny, I could still stand for you to be louder on your solo.”

Daniel nods. “Understood.”

Reid raises his hand, and speaks right to Dr. C. “How come Jhiron gets to sit on the stage and I don’t?”

Jhiron flips Reid off. Quinn holds back a laugh. Dr. C chuckles, and rolls her eyes. Four years with these two must have gotten her well accustomed to their typical antics, given that she usually laughs them off as par for the course. “Okay,” she says. “You’re all dismissed. Go and get costumed.”

*

_iMessage_

_Saturday, 6:18 PM_

_Sebastián♥️: headed into locker room! i don’t think i’ll be done before you go onstage so_

_Sebastián♥️: ❤️❤️❤️❤️_

_Sebastián♥️: have a great show baby!!!!!!!!_

_Sebastián♥️: break an arm❤️🥰_

_Me: Thank you🤍🤍🤍_

_Me: I hope you win🤍_

_Sebastián♥️: hahah me too!!_

*

_quinn_

_7:05 pm_

Quinn is checking his eyeliner in the dressing room mirror when Ellie knocks on the door. “Is everyone decent?” she calls, from beyond it.

Reid puts his phone down on his chest. “I’m ass-naked,” he replies, which he is not. He’s fully costumed, even though his costume looks like an outfit he’d wear on any regular day. Cole and Daniel have the same situation, and— well, come to think of it, Quinn does, too. He studies himself in the mirror; he could completely imagine wearing this blue polo as a regular shirt. The cast is a bit of an abnormality, though. (Doing everything one-handed is, as it turns out, incredibly difficult.)

“Lovely,” Ellie replies, and she swings the door open anyway. Quinn figures that three years of Reid have been enough for her to realize when he’s joking (which, Quinn has learned, is at least eighty percent of the time).

Ellie is wearing her headset already. Quinn supposes that’s her way of getting costumed. “Five minutes to sound check,” she announces.

“Thank you, five,” Quinn calls, in unison with Reid, and then turns away from the mirror to wave at Ellie. She waves back, but she looks her typical brand of pre-performance stage manager stressed, so she’s gone without much further interaction.

Reid balances his phone on his chest, and sighs at the ceiling with a grin. “You ready, Quinn?”

He turns to face him on his stool. “For sound check?”

Reid shrugs. “Or just for the show in general.”

“Oh.” Quinn squares his shoulders, smiles, and nods. “Yes, I’d say I’m quite ready.”

Reid grins at him, shaking his head. “I fucking love you, frosh, did you know that?” Quinn laughs, as he adds, “All formal all the time. You’re a model citizen.”

He dusts off his polo, even though he ironed it today and it does not need dusting. “Why, thank you, Reid.”

“Ah!” From his own little station in the room, perched on top of the vanity and facing the mirror, Cole holds two fingers into his eyelid and blinks a couple times. “Fuck.”

A few feet away, Daniel arches an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I’m good—” Cole holds up a hand and blinks two more times, then nods. “Yeah.” Glasses-less, he turns around to face the rest of them, still sitting up on the counter. “I’m good.”

“Contacts are a biiiiitch,” Reid remarks, then pushes his wiry glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger, grinning at Cole. “Sucks to suck, Coley.”

Cole _does_ look funny without his glasses, but it’s a fitting look for his Connor Murphy all the same. “Well, y’know,” he replies, with a little shrug, and swings his boots off the table. “It’s for the aesthetic.”

Quinn laughs. “Yeah,” Reid says. “Fuck your vision.”

Cole musses up his hair. “I’m ready to roll now.”

Reid smacks both his knees like a dad who’s ready to leave a restaurant. “What do we think, gentlemen?” he says. “To sound check we go?”

Quinn hops off of his stool. He gets just a little restless, in these hours before shows, while he’s waiting to pass the time. “I think that sounds great.”

Daniel yawns as he stands. “Good plan,” he replies, and Cole follow suit. Spencer, the only other guy in the production, has been sitting on his phone in the corner, and doesn’t budge. That’s pretty much all he does in the dressing room, Quinn has come to realize. He sits there and ignores the rest of them. “You coming, Spencer?” Quinn tries.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, all forceful and irritated. “I don’t have a mic, stupid.”

“Oh.” Quinn falters. He really tries to be kind to people, but Spencer’s attitude is testing his patience. “My mistake.”

And okay. Maybe he _did_ know that Spencer doesn’t have a mic, and he did that on purpose. But Spencer has insulted Maggie’s pitch, and called Cole a creep, and snapped at Reid, and given Quinn himself dirty looks one too many times throughout this rehearsal process, and he couldn’t resist giving him a little passive-aggression.

Two can play at his high school social drama antics.

Reid grabs the dressing room door, and Quinn walks out with the rest of them in a cluster. “My goodness,” he mumbles, to Cole, once the door shuts behind them. “He can be so…”

“Fucking bitchy,” Cole finishes. Quinn sighs, and nods. Maybe he shouldn’t have provoked him at all. But then again, he wasn’t being blatant about it.

They congregate on the stage. Kelsie is already out here, standing by herself on the edge of the stage, but there’s no sign yet of the other girls. There’s a spotlight searching the whole auditorium, which is a surefire sign that Ezra is already stationed in their light booth. Quinn tries waving up in the direction of the booth, where their silhouette behind the spotlight is pretty much the only sign of them. After a second, he gets a wave in response, and he grins.

He _loves_ this stage, this theater— loves it so much more than his high school auditorium, he’s sorry to say. He had a grand old time in Grand Rapids high school theatre, especially in the summertime, but you really can’t compare. It’s a matter of a low-budget high school auditorium which doubled as the place they held all-school assemblies, and was constantly so warm that guests would fan themselves with playbills, up against the well-patronized performing arts center of a prestigious East Coast college. When you measure it up that way— when you stand on this stage, adding your name to the list of college actors who have come before you— it really can’t measure up.

When Quinn goes home this summer, maybe the one nice thing waiting for him in Michigan besides his sister will be the fact that he can go and visit his high school drama director and tell him about _this_ place.

A hand on his shoulder from behind takes him out of his little trance upstage. “How ya feeling?” It’s Maggie, costumed up and ready to go. She loves her purple dress, and says it’s a tragedy she doesn’t get to dance in it. _Try dancing in khakis_ , Quinn keeps telling her.

“I’m fine,” he replies, which is true. Last night was stressful— opening his very first show in college, as the lead, no less, was not without its unending list of possible disasters. He never really relaxes until he’s onstage and into the performing piece, but tonight, now that he knows the ropes of how a performance night actually goes, is a lot less logistical stress. He turns to Maggie all the way and nods to ask, “How are you?”

She shrugs, ruffling up her hair. “I don’t like waiting.”

He smiles. “You can say that again.”

“Alright.” Jhiron’s disembodied voice is a little loud for Quinn’s liking through the house PA system. He can see him up in the booth with Ezra now. “I think I can see you all.”

Reid looks into the rafters of the stage. “God?” he cries. “Is that you?!”

Claire laughs at Reid, and nearby, Kelsie folds her arms and scowls. “Reid, be serious.”

Reid stiffens and salutes her. “Aye-aye, cap’n. Being serious.”

“Alright, so you know the drill now,” Jhiron continues over the PA system, ignoring whatever debacle is going on onstage, as he usually does. “When I call on you, talk loudly and clearly. Don’t talk between people, and this will be quick and painless. Deal?”

“Deal,” Quinn echoes, and so do a few other people.

“Okay, nice.” Jhiron pauses. “Uh… Danny. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Daniel steps forward onstage and waves up to the booth, just the way Quinn did a minute ago. “Hi, Jhrion,” he says, and his mic’d voice fills the auditorium. “What’s up? How’s your day? I had a really good sandwich for lunch, and I haven’t actually eaten dinner, which is, uh… a poor life choice, I guess, but in my defense, I did have microwaved popcorn earlier—”

“Okay, sing something,” Jhiron says.

“ _It just takes a little patience… it just takes a little time…_ ”

“Thanks, Danny. Everyone follow his lead. Allison?”

“I have the power of God _and_ anime on my side—”

“And sing…”

“ _Hello, my name is Elder Price, and I would like to share with you the most amazing book_ …”

“Claire?”

“I honor and love you! But I shall obey God rather than you, and as long as I have life and strength, I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy—”

“Sing.”

“ _Wherefore, O men of Athens, I say to you_ …”

“Kelsie?”

“One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight…”

“Aaaand sing.”

“ _Gimme gimme that thing called love_ …”

“Quinn?”

Quinn jolts. Listening to sound check can get him zoned out, because it’s a lot of noise all at once. Last night, he counted when Jhiron called his name, but Kelsie just counted, and he doesn’t want to deal with the drama of looking like he copied her, even though that would be silly and juvenile. So he signs the letter A, then starts to speak the alphabet, signing in tandem. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I—”

“Sing.”

He doesn’t have time to think of something funny, so he just falls back on old habits. “ _All we see is light…_ ”

“Pff,” says Reid, from a few feet away, with a grin as Jhiron moves onto Cole. “Showoff.” Quinn smiles halfway at him, but doesn’t dare interrupt the sound magic.

“I’m talking…” Cole paces while he gets sound-checked. “I’m… making noise…” He trails off and looks to the booth, like he’s waiting for Jhiron to stop him.

The disembodied God-voice says, “No, keep going.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Cole laughs a little, then keeps pacing and says, “Uh… okay, I’m still talking… I am making noise with my vocal cords…”

“Okay, _now_ sing.”

“ _Where are youuuu_ ,” Cole sings, doing some kind of rockstar head-nod to an invisible beat. “ _And I’m so sorry…_ ”

“Good. Maggie?”

Maggie does the rap from Hollaback Girl and then starts singing High School Musical, and Jhiron hesitates when she finishes a moment before he takes an audible deep breath. “Okay,” he says, sighing it all out at once. “Reid.”

“Well, jeez, I thought you’d never get to me!” Reid projects so easily— maybe that’s because his regular speaking voice is loud already, or maybe it’s just that he looks and acts so natural when he’s on a stage. He puts his hands on his hips and remarks, “You know, Jhiron, I was thinking the other day.”

“Here we go,” Jhiron mutters into the PA system.

“I,” Reid says, putting one hand on his chest, “in a moment of clarity and personal revelation, realized that I’m actually going to _miss_ your sorry ass when we graduate,” he says. “Imagine that! Me, having a real human emotion. It’s true, I experienced a bit of doubt at first, but—”

“Okay, shut the fuck up and sing.”

Reid transitions seamlessly into, “ _Because we’re Delta Airlines, and life is a fucking nightmare_ …”

He waits, like Cole, as if he thinks Jhiron is going to tell him he’s done, but after a pregnant pause, Jhiron says, “Keep singing.”

“ _Cloooose your eyes and shut your mouth… dream a dream and get us out…_ ”

“Is that…” Maggie squints at him for a second, and then whispers, “Sharkboy and Lava Girl?”

“ _Only_ ,” Reid says, back to actually speaking now, “the greatest cinematic masterpiece of my childhood, thank you very much.”

“You’re good, Reid,” Jhiron says. “That’s everyone. Thanks for cooperating.”

“I love you, bitch,” Reid calls, pointing up toward the booth, even though Jhiron has shut his mic off. “I ain’t never gonna stop loving you, _bitch_ —”

Quinn laughs as they start to file off the stage. “That’s my cue,” he remarks.

Maggie falls into step next to him. “Your cue to do what?”

“Oh, to go and meditate.” He points to his ear, with a smile, and adds, “It’s my one moment of freedom from the prison of sound.”

Maggie arches an eyebrow. “You seem so chipper about it.”

“I don’t like sound,” Quinn replies, and then shuts his hearing aids off, and the buzz of the cast around him disappears completely. He pulls them out of his ears entirely, flashes Maggie a thumbs-up, and then jogs the rest of the way to the dressing room, where Spencer is still sulking.

Like he did last night, he grabs the case for his hearing aids off of his section of vanity, closes them inside, and turns around to leave them there. Moving against the flow of the rest of the cast, he makes his way backstage and finds a quiet, dark corner.

This is honestly one of his favorite parts.

*

_spencer_

_7:22 pm_

Spencer watches Quinn leave. He hates everything about him, staring at his back, from the way the stupid polo fits him so well to his formal demeanor to his stupid ability to charm the entire rest of the drama club. He can’t tell if he’s more angry that Quinn comes and goes without a word, leaving his hearing aids on the table, than he would have been if Quinn said anything to him at all.

But anyway. Save himself, the dressing room is empty again when Quinn goes, although not for long; he can hear Reid and company approaching again, which means another headache. The hearing aids are in their case on Quinn’s vanity, among his various other items— his phone, a can of hairspray, a roll of mic tape, some loose cough drops. The case is like a prize, small and discreet, his for the taking.

Now or never.

He gets out of his chair in the corner, slinks across the room, and lunges for the case on Quinn’s vanity spot. Once it’s in his hand, he has the briefest second of panic— what if Reid or anybody else besides comes in, right at this second, and catches him red-handed? But he pockets the case as quick as he can, and avoids that incident— in fact, he gets all the way back to his own stuff, a mere few feet that seems like miles, without anyone coming in to catch him.

He figures it’s fate, as he slides the case into his bag and zips it away. Quinn’s vanity station doesn’t even look out of the ordinary, with it missing.

Spencer sits back in his chair, pulls his phone out again, and waits.

_iMessage_

_7:33 pm_

_Me: I have them_

_Kelsie: PERFECT_

_Kelsie: he just passed me going backstage_

_Me: And now we wait._

*

_quinn_

_7:31 pm_

Quinn much prefers a lack of noise to the presence of it.

He thinks there are maybe a grand total of three sounds he genuinely enjoys being able to hear— Sebastián’s voice, good music and soundtracks, tap dancing sounds, _maybe_ a cat meowing, and that’s it. He hates his hearing aids at least ninety percent of the time. They force him to conform, to neglect his culture, to be like everybody else.

His natural self exists without them, so, naturally, he can only fully get into character when he’s not wearing them.

The first time he did this was during his very first show, _Hello, Dolly!_ in high school. He was very stressed-out about performing onstage for the first time, and the sound of the cast making perfectly reasonable cast noise backstage all got to be too much— so thirty minutes before showtime, he yanked his hearing aids out, left them in the dressing room, and went backstage to have a small sensory overload attack that wound up to be a fantastic exercise in getting into character. When he emerged, only slightly ruffled and much more cooled-down, he felt a million times more prepared to get onto that stage than he had at the beginning of the night.

So it became a tradition. He did it for each high school show; by the time he graduated, he had a little spot designated in the wings backstage where he’d go to sit and meditate before each performance. He worried a bit, last night for the _DEH_ opening, that he wouldn’t get a chance to disappear for a little while, that there would be a structure and schedule to all the show’s preparation— but right after sound check all the way up until places, he found himself with nothing to do. That’s when he took advantage of the time, and it helped him so massively to get into character.

Over the years, he’s played some characters who are more like himself than others. Evan Hansen has proved a challenge, but he was never really blind to the fact that this _would_ be a challenge once he knew he was cast. He’s satisfied with his own undertaking of the role, but that’s not to say it hasn’t been a process. Building his Evan was a matter of learning mannerisms, creating body language, spending multiple late nights up reading articles about depression and social anxiety. He knew he was making progress at a lunch with Sebastián and the boys several weeks ago, when Ben sat across the table and arched an eyebrow. _Q,_ he said. _Are you good, bro? You look antsy._

_I’m perfectly alright, Ben; why do you ask?_

_You, like… keep grabbing the back of your neck?_

He guesses maybe it’s been a little method acting. He has to remind himself to keep his posture, body language, and everything else normal, when he’s not on the stage. But given how well he felt his performance went last night, he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing.

So with his ears out, tucked into a little corner in the wings, he successfully gets himself into character. For the next three hours, Quinn has to take a backseat to Evan.

He emerges from his backstage hideaway ready to go. Everything is good— everything is great, even. He smiles at Claire when he passes her in the hall, and she smiles back, not saying a word (bless her, honestly). When he gets back into the dressing room, Spencer and Daniel inside but Cole and Reid are missing, and he makes a beeline for his spot at the mirror so he can retrieve his ears.

That’s when the problem arises.

The case that holds his hearing aids isn’t where he left it.

He moves a few things aside and searches the surface of his portion of countertop, but he doesn’t see the case anywhere. It must have fallen on the floor, he figures, since he placed it close to the edge while he was leaving anyway. He kneels and reaches under the table.

The space under the table is empty.

Well, okay. He straightens up again, then steps back to look around more fully at the area. Cole’s spot is to his left, and Daniel’s to his right. Daniel’s countertop is pretty clean, but Cole’s is a slight disaster. His glasses are sitting right up against the vanity, so Quinn takes care not to knock them to the ground while he sorts carefully through Cole’s part of the table.

But his hearing aids aren’t on Cole’s side. Or Daniel’s side. He furrows his brow and looks in his space again. He left them _right here_. He may have been rushing to get backstage, but he knows where he put his own stupid hearing aids.

So where did they go?

He jumps when Daniel waves in his peripheral vision, and turns to look at him just in time to make out what must be an _are you okay?_ on his lips. There’s confusion in his expression, and Quinn realizes his very vague panic must be showing.

He wishes he could sign, but Daniel doesn’t know ASL. He points to his ear to show it’s empty, and realization dawns on Daniel’s face; he nods. _Ohhhhh_ , it looks like he says. Then he pulls out his phone and types for a second. When he turns its screen to face Quinn, he’s opened the notes app, and typed, _Are you okay?_

Quinn types back. _Have you seen my hearing aids?_

Daniel takes his phone back when Quinn passes it to him, and shakes his head, raising an eyebrow at the question on his screen. He frowns, then looks to the vanity before he shakes his head again.

Well. Okay. They have to be around here _somewhere_.

And he has to get looking. _Now_. Because there are twenty-six minutes to curtain, and he _cannot_ spend any of them panicking.

*

_iMessage_

_7:34 PM_

_Me: Where did you go?_

_Cole Kolinsky: im at costume table with reid_

_Cole Kolinsky: theres candy_

_Cole Kolinsky: dont crucify me for eating in costume_

_Cole Kolinsky: its like my normal clothing_

_Me: Have you seen my hearing aids?_

_Cole Kolinsky: what?_

_Cole Kolinsky: i saw them on your table in the dressing room_

_Me: That’s where I left them._

_Me: They aren’t there anymore._

_Cole Kolinsky: ?????_

_Cole Kolinsky: im on my way_

*

_spencer_

_7:36 pm_

It’s working.

Spencer can tell it’s working, because he sees the panic on Quinn Fucking Cooper’s stupid freckled face. He types furiously on his phone for a minute, turning his dressing room spot upside down between texts or whatever he’s doing, and then a few moments later, Cole comes busting through the dressing room door like he’s been summoned, with Reid right in tow. Neither of them speaks— they go right to an increasingly anxious-looking Quinn.

Quinn shows them his phone, like he’s typed something up, and then gestures all around his space; Daniel has joined the nonverbal conversation, too. Spencer wonders if it would be less obvious to stare or not to stare, and before he can decide, Reid looks over to him. “Hey,” he says. “Spence. Have you seen his hearing aids?”

Acting is what Spencer does best.

“His hearing aids?” he echoes, standing up from his chair in the corner. “No, I don’t think so. Weren’t they in his ears?”

“He took them out to go backstage,” Daniel supplies. Quinn is looking between them all like he knows they’re talking about him, and has no idea what’s being said.

“He can’t find them now,” Cole adds, and his voice is tinged with suspicion— Spencer realizes, as he, Reid, and Daniel all look at him, that they _all_ look kind of suspicious, and that is something that just cannot happen.

“Well— that’s weird; I have no idea what happened to them,” he replies, pacing over to their little group like it’s of the utmost importance. Quinn is typing on his phone again. “Where did he leave them?”

Quinn turns his phone around, where there’s a note: _I left my hearing aids on the table and went backstage to meditate. When I came back, they were gone. Did you see what happened to them?_

Spencer shakes his head at him, plastering on the most sympathetic expression he can manage. He starts to speak, but then realizes that would be incredibly counterproductive.

“Well— c’mon, let’s not just stand here,” Reid says. “All hands on deck. Let’s look around.”

So they search the dressing room. Spencer conveniently ‘searches’ his own area, because he doesn’t trust that leaving that task in the hands of anyone else would keep him and his deeds anonymous. His heart is pounding a little, with the anticipation, the excitement. He doesn’t have long; he needs to get into costume. And to do that, they have to bring this issue to a higher power. “Do you think—” he asks, as they’ve begun to exhaust their search, and Quinn is pacing in his silent anxiety, his hands going all over the place, “— do you think we should go to Dr. C?”

He knows Quinn can’t hear him, but it’s not really meant for Quinn. He _wants_ Reid to be the one to notice this, because Reid has the most general leverage with Dr. C, and could help things move along a bit more quickly.

Reid looks back at him for a second, and the briefest inkling of panic arises in Spencer’s mind, like Reid is going to see through him and call him out, like the short-lived charade of being concerned is about to be up. But then Reid sighs, a wholly frustrated noise, and says, “I— okay, if we go to her, it shouldn’t be all of us.”

 _I can use text to speech_ , says a Siri-like voice very suddenly, coming from Quinn’s phone. _And you can text me._

It’s weird, hearing a robot speak in place of Quinn’s shrill voice, but Spencer guesses it’s actually less annoying. Quinn should go silent more often.

“I’ll stay,” says Cole, raising his hand, and adds, “I’ll keep looking.”

Quinn must be reading his lips or something, because he nods rapidly at him, and then after a second of him typing, his phone says, _Thank you._

“I’ll keep looking, too,” Danny adds, which is just great. A tinge of anxiety creeps up in Spencer’s mind again. If these two end up turning the place upside down, and going through _his_ bag…

But they wouldn’t go through people’s personal belongings.

“C’mon,” Reid says, and beckons for him and Quinn in turn. “Let’s get a move on.”

*

Dr. C is talking to Nicki, and Spencer almost feels bad for the pre-show panic they’re about to cause her. _Almost_.

But it’s too beneficial to himself for him to really care all that much, in the end.

“Dr. C!” Reid leads the charge, but Spencer speaks first. Quinn stalks behind them, anxious and red-faced, like he’s already in character. Spencer has never seen him like this. “We have a problem.”

“Oh, no.” Dr. C looks between the three of them; there’s concern in her expression immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Quinn has prepared for this; he lifts his phone and plays out more robot-speak. _I removed my hearing aids to go backstage and meditate, the way I normally do. When I came back, they were gone. Things don’t just disappear, but we’ve searched the entire dressing room and I have no idea what happened to them._

When he’s certain it’s over, Spencer adds, “We’ve looked everywhere.”

“Spence,” Reid hisses, “put a sock in it. Quinn can handle this.”

“Well, he can’t _hear_ me—”

Dr. C ignores both of them, keeps her cool as far as Spencer can tell, and pulls out her phone.

*

_iMessage_

_7:43 PM_

_Dr. Caraway: Have you asked everybody in the cast if they’ve seen them?_

_Quinn Cooper: Yes, I have._

_Quinn Cooper: I don’t understand. I’m so embarrassed. Things do not just disappear._

_Dr. Caraway: Are you sure one of your castmates doesn’t have them?_

_Quinn Cooper: I don’t see why they would._

*

Dr. C looks up from her phone. In her best demonstration of projection, like she uses on newcomers who aren’t doing it right, she calls, “Has anyone here seen Quinn’s hearing aids?”

Quinn shrinks towards his phone a little, and Spencer has to remind himself not to delight in this whole process too much. He is, after all, putting on a show. With a sympathetic shake of his head, he replies, “No,” in tandem with pretty much anyone else in earshot. Even _Reid_ is starting to look stressed-out. Spencer is pretty sure he’s never seen Reid even vaguely bothered by anything.

It’s fantastic.

Dr. C goes back to her phone.

*

_Quinn Cooper: I am so sorry. I have no idea what happened. I don’t even have the words for how frustrated I am._

_Dr. Caraway: Can you perform without your hearing aids?_

_Quinn Cooper: I can sign, but I can’t sing._

_Dr. Caraway: Keep looking for them._

_Dr. Caraway: I’m going to dress Spencer, just to be safe._

*

She doesn’t look angry, but as Spencer watches her type, Dr. C does look more and more rattled. When she finally finishes whatever conversation she’s having with Quinn over text— Spencer would kind of kill to read it, even though he’s loving the growing panic on Quinn’s face as a substitute— Dr. C pockets her phone, and Quinn turns on his heel to rush back toward the dressing room.

“He’s going to keep looking,” she announces, in an even voice, to the various people who have surrounded their small conference, confused about what’s going on. “But in the meantime,” she adds, scarily neutral for a second, “the show must go on.”

Spencer does not smile, not even when her eyes land on him the way he knew they were about to. “Spencer,” she says. “I need you to get dressed to potentially take his place.”

His heart does a happy dance. Perfect! This is perfect. _Everything_ is coming together. He keeps up the charade, and gives her a solemn nod. “I understand.”

It’s only when he passes Kelsie, on his way back to the dressing room, that he lets himself exchange with her the briefest, most triumphant smile.

Center stage, here he comes.

*

_iMessage_

_7:44 pm_

_Maggie Atkins: are you okay?_

_Me: No_

_Me: I feel awful_

_Me: I’m so embarrassed_

_Me: How does a case just disappear?_

_Me: I left it right there_

_Maggie Atkins: you’re right though_

_Maggie Atkins: things don’t disappear_

_Maggie Atkins: i’ll help you look_

_Maggie Atkins: meet me in the dressing room_

*

_spencer_

_7:44 pm_

There are benefits to the fact that all of this is happening so close to curtain, and then there are detriments. The benefit is that there won’t be any time for Quinn to think of a backup plan, so Spencer gets to perform. The detriment, though, is that Spencer had to wait so long for Dr. C’s okay to dress— and now he has to rush like a madman.

He has his own costume, thanks to the fact that Quinn is so small; everything he wears for the show would be too tight on Spencer. He grabs it from the costumer’s rack in a mad dash, where it’s been buried between miscellaneous costume pieces like it’s been forgotten, and then pushes past people in various states of confusion about Quinn’s situation to get to the dressing room. “Out of my way,” he says, as he goes, “get out of my way. I’m rushing.”

And they do get out of his way, which is a relief. But when he bursts into the dressing room, costume hanger over his shoulder, Always-Flat Maggie is inside, rifling through Quinn’s things with him. Actually, she’s on her hands and knees, looking under the vanity, and her ass is threatening to flash out of her dress. “Maggie,” he says, because he does not have time for this right now. “You need to get out.”

“Look,” she replies, not moving from where her head is buried under the table, “I get that it’s the ‘boys’ room’, but I’m helping Quinn.”

“Well, that’s nice,” he replies, well aware that an incredibly distressed onlooking Quinn has no idea what they’re saying to each other, “but I have to change, so you have to get out.”

“Spencer, c’mon,” she says. “Just change. I’m not _looking_.”

He _really_ does not have time for this. “I’m serious, Maggie!” He waves his costume hanger at her, even though she’s not looking. Quinn is rifling through his own bag for what must be the tenth time, but he still shrinks back a little as Spencer shakes the costume. “I _need_ to _change_.”

Maggie, because she is at heart, as he’s always kind of known, a bitch with an attitude, tuts and still doesn’t cease her searching under the table. “Why are you wasting time arguing with me about it if it’s so urgent that you get dressed?”

Spencer bristles. He guesses it’s just in Maggie’s nature, but that doesn’t mean her attitude is excusable. It’s clear she isn’t moving, and it’s not like she’s staring his way. She’ll yield no discovery with her head under that table, but _she_ doesn’t know that, and neither does Quinn. He huffs and drops his costume hanger on top of his stuff. He can tell that Quinn is looking his way, or at least that he takes a glance, but that’s just what guys like him do in dressing rooms anyway, so Spencer is used to it.

He doesn’t have time. He has to get dressed, and fast, because he has a show to lead.

*

_iMessage_

_7:46 PM_

_Me: I know you’re on the ice…_

_Me: The most awful thing is happening_

_Me: I took my hearing aids out to meditate, which I always do, and when I returned to the dressing room, they weren’t there. I left them in plain sight on the table at my spot._

_Me: Things do not just disappear. I don’t understand._

_Me: We searched the dressing room and still couldn’t find them. I don’t get it._

_Me: I am so mortified. I always take them out before every show and I’ve never had a problem._

_Me: My understudy is going on as me. I’m devastated._

_Me: I’m sorry to blow up your phone like this. I didn’t know what to do._

_Me: I’m going to keep looking for them._

*

_quinn_

_7:48 pm_

Dr. C calls places.

Quinn winds up sitting backstage on a bench, with Cole to one side, Maggie to the other, and Reid cross-legged on the ground, while Spencer gets casted and costumed and ready to go.

Quinn can’t breathe well. He holds his phone between his hands, shivering and nauseous, unable to remember the last time he was quite this unwell before a show. But it’s not like, he reminds himself miserably, he’ll even _have_ this show— because this show is lost, gone to the carelessness he has no idea how even occurred. Last night was so perfect, and now this.

_Group: You, Maggie Atkins, Cole Kolinsky, Reid Burke_

_7:47 PM_

_Quinn Cooper: I don’t understand how something just disappears._

_Quinn Cooper: It’s not like the case is a small thing that’s easy to lose._

_Maggie Atkins emphasized a message_

_Cole Kolinsky: you checked your bag, right?_

_Quinn Cooper: Four separate times._

_Quinn Cooper: I do not understand._

_Quinn Cooper: I’m so sorry, everybody. I’m mortified._

Cole rubs his back, and he tips his head to rest on Maggie’s shoulder. She’s holding his free hand, the one in the cast, his non-texting one.

_Maggie Atkins: it isn’t your fault._

_Reid Burke: ^^^^^^_

_Quinn Cooper: But isn’t it?_

_Cole Kolinsky: it definitely isn’t_

_Quinn Cooper: Then what happened? Why would somebody move them?_

_Quinn Cooper: Things don’t just disappear._

Next to him, Cole sits up a little, like he’s thinking of something. Quinn waits for him to text it, but he doesn’t. He just sits there and fiddles with the zipper on his hoodie.

_Maggie Atkins: they definitely don’t_

_Reid Burke: I don’t know where they went but I definitely don’t think you should blame yourself_

He almost doesn’t want to ask this next question, but he has to.

_Quinn Cooper: Is Dr. C angry?_

_Reid Burke: Definitely NOT_

_Reid Burke: I think she’s confused, but we all are_

He looks up to Reid, and wonders if he can believe him. He doesn’t think— at all— that Reid would lie to save his feelings, but he knows that no one can _really_ know what Dr. C is thinking right now, no one can possibly understand what kind of frantic panic this has caused for her. He can only imagine how this might tarnish the way she sees him. No matter what he does, he knows from this night on, he’ll _always_ be the irresponsible one who couldn’t perform because he misplaced a basic, obvious object.

Quinn wants to cry.

_Reid Burke: You’ve done such a good job with this show_

_Reid Burke: She understands that accidents happen_

He’s not even sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

_Quinn Cooper: I’m so frustrated, because I hate them, and now I need them._

_Quinn Cooper: I always resent them_

_Quinn Cooper: I’m so sorry, everybody_

He puts his phone down on his knee for a second, to blink away the rapidly welling tears in his eyes. Maggie must be able to tell, because she squeezes his hand, really tightly, and he loves his friends but he is so very disoriented right now that he can barely think straight.

He wants to say, _I can sign_!!! Because he _can_ — here he is looking so helpless, this version of himself that he likes best, and the only reason he can’t go on and do this show as normal is that nobody would understand a signing Evan Hansen, not in this audience, not here— and oh, his translations might be a little rough, but he can still _talk_ , he can _sign_ , he could do _something_ to salvage this performance—

And here he is, useless, helpless, on this stupid bench backstage, ready to cry his eyes out over his own negligence.

His phone buzzes.

_Cole Kolinsky: i’ll brb_

Cole stands, and then rushes out of the wings entirely, disappearing back in the direction of the dressing room. Quinn watches him go, and when he blinks, there are tears in his eyes again, and he doubles over like that will hide the fact that he’s being so pathetic.

And he hasn’t even _stopped_ to consider _other_ implications of this, like what if, even after this fiasco passes, it turns out that his hearing aids are really _gone_? How is he supposed to attend classes, or do the rest of the performances, or do _anything_ at this mainstream, non-accessible school— without them?

And that isn’t even the _worst_ part, because he’ll have to _replace_ them at some point, and oh, _gosh_ , Oma and Opa will be _so angry_ with him; he’s sick to his stomach just thinking about it—

_Maggie Atkins: i’m so sorry quinn_

Reid hops up onto the bench where Cole left a spot vacant, and wraps him up in a side hug, which is a nice gesture on its own but only makes Quinn want to cry more. He can’t cry here, can’t cry backstage. At curtain, he’ll go back into the dressing room and take some time for himself. He’ll wait for Sebastián to get off the ice, and— he’ll do something.

But right now, all he can do is sit here feeling ill.

*

_cole_

_7:51 pm_

Cole is not a detective, but he has a hunch. He has no idea if his hunch is accurate, but his gut is telling him so, and he’s willing to accept being wrong if he turns out to be.

But holy _shit_ , is he the opposite of jazzed about performing with Spencer, especially on such short notice. And even more important than that, Quinn is his friend, and he feels awful for him, and he’s never seen him more upset than he has in the past twenty minutes.

And Quinn is right. Things don’t just disappear. So Cole makes a mad dash for the guys’ dressing room, and only stops running because Kelsie is blocking the door.

It’s the kind of ‘blocking a door’ where you don’t really look like you _intend_ to block the door; you’re just standing right by it, and nobody can get past you whether you mean it or not. Cole doesn’t like Kelsie; she’s never been nice to him, but he’s willing, at least for a second, to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she isn’t doing it on purpose. “Uh,” he says, as he stops in front of her. “Could I get by?”

Kelsie slides her phone into her pocket. It occurs to him that the fact that she’s not backstage, given places were already called, is weird. “What do you need?”

“To get by,” he replies.

And all she says is, “Why?”

Which makes him all the more suspicious.

“So I can go into the dressing room?” he says.

“Why?” Kelsie repeats.

“I… don’t really need a reason,” he says, “seeing as it’s my dressing room and you’re in the way?”

She raises her eyebrows. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Well, you’re blocking the door,” he explains, “and I’m in a hurry.”

Kelsie looks around for a second, like she’s checking to see who’s nearby, and then lowers her voice a little, tipping her head to the side. “Y’know…” she starts, and he knows she’s about to say something unnecessarily mean before it even leaves her mouth. “I think we both know you shouldn’t even be in the _men’s_ dressing room in the first place.”

It stings. It always does, no matter who it comes from. It’s been a long time since someone said something like that to him, but the rhetoric takes him right back, like he’s in high school all over again. She’s no better than those high school bullies, never will be. Cole’s advantage is that he’s well used to people’s bullshit. And right now, he is a hundred percent not in the mood to let it stop him from getting through this door.

“Kelsie,” he says, more evenly than he expects himself to be able to speak, “get the fuck out of my way right now or I swear I’ll take your bitchy transphobic bullshit right to Dr. C.”

Kelsie’s left eyebrow twitches, and Cole does not back down. He waits. And _finally_ , she moves. “If we’re going to Dr. C,” she mutters, “you should respect your upperclassmen, freak.”

“Fuck off, Kelsie.” He pushes by her, shoves open the dressing room door, and kicks it shut behind him— then runs directly across the room and turns Spencer’s bag on its head.

*

_spencer_

_7:53 pm_

Quinn is clearly not understanding the urgency of Spencer’s situation.

He’s only half-casted up, and his makeup is haphazard at best (they’ll have to touch it up during Requiem or something), and he needs a mic. Now. Immediately. And all Quinn is doing is sitting on the bench in front of him, _crying_ , like a primadonna who didn’t get her way. “I _need_ your _mic_ ,” he repeats, louder and more pronounced this time, and Quinn shakes his head at him, and that’s when Maggie, who is sitting next to Quinn like she’s his emotional support animal, snaps her head up at him and scowls.

“Spencer, he can’t _hear_ you.”

“Well, he can read my lips!” He doesn’t have time for this. Whose idea was it to cast freshmen in this show? _Jesus._ He taps the side of his face, where the mic will need to go, while Quinn’s bewildered and teary expression remains unchanging. “ _Maggie_ ,” he says, finally giving up. “Don’t just sit there. Can you tell him I need his mic?”

Maggie looks to Quinn, and looks far too reluctant for his liking. “Make it snappy,” he adds, and Maggie rolls her eyes, then reaches for Quinn’s mic pack and points to where it’s been taped in his hair.

Quinn seems to understand. He brings his hand to it, then looks up to Spencer, _finally_. He knew he couldn’t hear without those stupid hearing aids, but he didn’t know that removing them also would make him as dumb as a rock.

“Yes,” he tells him, forcefully. “I need it.”

Quinn takes a breath that comes out sort of shaky, and then nods and reaches behind him, like he’s going to pull his mic pack out.

And then, in a blur of black clothing and winded breath, Cole Kolinsky ruins the entire fucking evening.

“Stop!” He’s waving something in his hand like he found buried treasure, and he comes _directly_ into the space between Spencer and Quinn, almost tripping over his emo boots. “Stop, don’t— don’t change mics.” Cole is out of breath, and what happens next seems to happen in slow motion. He presents what he’s holding to Quinn, and Spencer’s stomach drops like an elevator.

“I found them,” Cole says, and found them, he _has_.

It is a good thing that Spencer is a fantastic actor, because he knows that without that skill, his face would fall so obviously in this moment that he would be caught red-handed. But as Cole presses the hearing aids into Quinn’s non-casted hand, and Quinn gasps and then jumps up and hugs the life out of Cole, Spencer’s heart sinks.

“ _Cole_!” Maggie cries, half a laugh and half a shout of joy. A split second, and this gleeful, heartwarming, Disney Channel moment backstage tears his entire chance of starring in this show away from him. He knits his brow, puts on a front, and says, “Cole! Where did you—”

Because there’s a chance that he wasn’t caught, right? Maybe they fell out of his bag, and wound up on the dressing room floor, or maybe everyone’s things were so thrown together that it would’ve been impossible to tell what came from whose bag, or maybe—

“The dressing room,” Cole replies, as Quinn releases him. As Quinn goes to put them back into his ears, one at a time, in a massive, relieved-looking hurry, Cole meets Spencer’s eyes over the top of his head and says, “Things don’t just disappear.”

And Spencer knows, based on the sharpness in the look that creep gives him, that he has been found out.

 _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ He keeps his cool, but the expression on Cole’s face says enough. Will he go to Dr. C? Will he go to Reid? Will he tell _Quinn_? Forget tonight’s performance— Spencer should have been more _careful_ , because now there’s a lot _more_ in jeapordy—

“Oh, my goodness,” Quinn says, newly re-eared, like he’s been holding his breath and just remembered how to breathe again. “ _Cole_. I can’t thank you enough—”

“Don’t thank me; don’t thank me,” Cole replies, and he holds Quinn up by his shoulders, while Maggie takes a spontaneously spawned tissue to Quinn’s face to help where he messed up a little of his makeup. Because this cast has always, and will always, bow to Quinn Fucking Cooper. “Go— do you need to do anything?”

Quinn shakes his head, shakes himself out, and beams. “No,” he breathes, and then he’s smiling, all chipper and freckled and pretty, like none of this ever happened. “No, I’m— I’m okay.”

“Holy shit—” Reid, who at some point left the bench, chooses this exact moment to come back and take in the scene. “ _Quinn_ — dude, you found them?”

“Cole found them,” Quinn replies, beaming up at Cole like he’s his knight in fucking emo armor. “They were in the dressing room.”

“Oh, thank _Christ_ ,” Reid cries, with this huge grin, and Spencer bristles; his stomach churns. Could they be any more obvious that they didn’t want to perform with him?

Ellie, in the curtain somewhere, hisses at them. “Quiet backstage!”

“Sorry!” Reid stage-whispers. “Quinn has his hearing aids back!”

“Oh— what?” Ellie covers the microphone she’s wearing on her face, and she lights up, like an ugly ginger Christmas tree. “For real?”

“Yes!” Maggie literally _jumps up and down_. They are so obnoxious, Spencer wants to hurl. And all he can do is stand here. The other cast members are congregating— Claire appears out of nowhere, and so does Danny, and even Kelsie walks up from where she was guarding the dressing room door. Spencer meets her eyes, and she’s crestfallen. _Why_ , he wonders, did she let Cole through the door?

“Hey, uh— Jhiron?” Ellie says into her headset. “Quinn’s all good. Crisis averted.”

Reid gives Cole a high-five. Claire is hugging the overdramatic, relieved Quinn, who looks like he still might be trying to stop crying. Kelsie slinks behind them and takes a spot next to Spencer, and he stares down at his half-casted hand.

Spencer _hates_ these people. But right now, he _especially_ hates Cole Kolinsky.

*

_quinn_

_8:00 pm_

Quinn’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding when the house lights go down, a few minutes later.

He’s in the wings, listening to the overture, waiting in the same spot he always does. He’s maybe more conscious than he ever has been— at least for this show— that he’s _listening_ to the overture. If it weren’t for Cole, he’d likely be crying in the dressing room, still coming apart, and definitely not listening to the overture. He wouldn’t be listening to anything.

He still hates his hearing aids, but he’s so grateful that Cole found them on time, because he _loves_ this show.

He’s not sure he’ll get over the lingering panic before he goes onstage, but that’s alright by him. If there’s one thing that’s in-character, it’s being panicked. Maybe it’ll help him act.

He’s standing there, hoping the crying didn’t mess up his makeup _too_ badly, as the overture closes in on its end, when Cole walks up next to him. Quinn owes him _massively_ , and he’ll have to do something to thank him. Write him a card, maybe. He’s a very good friend.

Cole tips his head to him, and mumbles in a low voice. “Hey,” he says. “Do you want to be angry now or later?”

Quinn squints at him. There’s something in his expression, like he knows something, almost like he has… _gossip_ for him or something. Quinn wonders if it has anything to do with his ears, then realizes it would be silly if it didn’t.

But he has to go onstage in about thirty seconds, and he doesn’t want to be angry when he does it. So he shakes his head and replies, gentle and quiet, “Later.”

Cole nods. He nudges his cast, then says, “Break a limb.”

Quinn laughs a little. “You, too,” he replies, and then, as the overture is coming to a close, walks out behind the curtain to take his spot at center stage.

The rest is like clockwork, and he’s okay again.

*

_spencer_

_8:25 pm_

Spencer has spent the past half an hour stewing.

_All we see is sky, for forever…_

He thought it would be better by now, but every moment he hears Quinn’s voice from his spot in the wings backstage is like another knife to the heart. In the form of flawless vocals, because of _course_ Quinn Fucking Cooper has flawless vocals every single time he does this show. It’s just another thing to add to the list of everything that’s perfect about him. Trust Spencer to try to seize his one imperfection and have it fucked up by Cole, the freak.

He’s in awe at how quickly this whole drama club turned on him. Last year, he was on top of the world, starring in _Book of Mormon_ and earning everyone’s good graces. He thought there was no way he could come down from that high, no matter if a goody two-shoes, perfect-pitched, ginger-haired, pointy-nosed, painfully perfect freshman arrived on campus this fall. He thought he had this drama club under his thumb, poised to help him succeed. Now he’s lost them all. Reid. Ellie. Danny. Claire. Allison. Even Cole, who, before tonight, was so irrelevant that Spencer barely paid him any mind. They’ve turned to Quinn’s side, and he’s their new golden boy. Spencer’s days in the sun are over.

But no— no, he can’t think like that. Tonight, his last-ditch effort to take back _Dear Evan Hansen_ , may have failed, and that is a damn tragedy considering the show was picked for him— but that doesn’t mean his theatre department is lost forever. He can bounce back, can get the lead in other productions. He has a whole year and some change left at Kiersey.

Quinn Fucking Cooper can’t take everything away from him.

 _I climb higher and higher._ He’s still singing onstage. _I climb until the entire sun shines on my face…_

Spencer knows this show’s score inside and out. He could sing along, if he wanted to. But he sits in the dark by himself and listens.

He hates how good it sounds.

*

_cole_

_10:12 pm_

Cole _almost_ lets the truth loose at intermission.

It’s at the back of his mind, as the first act comes to a close. The way he did last night, he sits in the curtain for the entire duration of You Will Be Found, singing along to his part— because he may not be onstage, but early on in the rehearsal process, Enrique seemed enthusiastic that they’d be able to use his mic from backstage to add his voice to the ensemble on this song. It’s difficult only in that the fact that he has to sing means he can’t cry. There are a lot of emotional parts of this show, but this song never fails to get him in his feelings.

It hits close to home.

When the act ends and the curtain closes, Cole almost says something. He really nearly does. He intends to go right to Reid and pull him aside, because even though he’s in show mode, he’s also been burying the knowledge of how fucking shitty what Spencer tried to do was for the past hour, and he _really_ wants to say something to _somebody_ — so he gets ready to do so.

But Reid, when he sees him backstage, is laughing his ass off with Claire about some onstage mishap that Cole didn’t notice, and Cole falters. He realizes that getting Reid alone will be tricky, especially in the fifteen-minute time crunch that is intermission— and he doesn’t want to break Reid’s _focus_ , either. Quinn asked not to be told until after the show for a reason. They’re all in the middle of a performance. And angry as Cole is, he can’t cause a huge, dramatic blowup at intermission when they all still have to do the second act of the show.

So he keeps it bottled up, gets all the way through the second act, relishes for the second night in a row at what a standing ovation feels like, and then— _then_ , finally, when he’s going up to the sound booth to return his mic to Jhiron, he sees Reid on the stairs ahead of him. No one else is around, so he picks up his pace until he can walk side-by-side with him. “Hey,” he whispers. “Are you rushing out of here? Do you have a sec?”

Reid wags his eyebrows. He’s winding his mic cord around the pack, as he takes the stairs two at a time. “I have _plenty_ of secs, Coley.”

Cole knows he wants a laugh, but the news he carries feels too serious to be laughing right before he delivers it. “I have to tell you something.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he skips the joking around that tips Reid off, but no matter the reason, something definitely does. He sobers and nods, as they reach the top of the stairs together. “Okay,” he says. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, but—”

“Oh, sweet.” They’re interrupted when they reach the open booth door. Only Jhiron and Ezra are inside, both doing whatever the sound and lighting people do at the end of a show (Cole’s guess is as good as anyone’s, ‘cause this really isn’t his department). The voice that interrupts them is Jhiron’s; he clasps his hands together as they approach him with their mics. “Thanks, guys. That was quick.”

Reid winks and finger-guns him simultaneously. “Anything for you, king.”

Jhiron takes his mic and sighs. “Get outta my booth.” To Cole, he nods as the mic transaction takes place. “Thanks, Cole.”

“No problem.”

Ezra is doing something with their beloved spotlight, but raises their hand to remark, “Great show, people.”

“Thanks, Ez.” Cole realizes, as Jhiron puts away his and Reid’s mics, that this might not have been the greatest time or place to start this conversation. Reid is known to linger in the booth with Jhiron after shows, or even after rehearsals, and Cole doesn’t want to, like. Be that awkward underclassman? Yeah, Ezra is a sophomore too, but Ezra, like… belongs up here.

But then Reid turns to him and jabs his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction they came. “Shall we?”

Okay. Thank gosh. This, Cole can do. “Uh, yeah. Let’s.”

They get halfway down the first flight of stairs before Cole is confident that the booth is out of earshot. Not that, he guesses, it really matters if it is. Jhiron will most definitely hear about this from Reid as soon as it gets out, and Ezra somehow is a magnet for all of the club gossip while contributing to none of it.

No, Cole has to tell Reid, because he has to tell _someone_. “Okay,” he says, and takes a breath. “Okay. Uh.”

Reid arches an eyebrow, fixing his glasses. “What’s going on?” he asks. “You look… kinda shook.”

“I, uh… _am_ kinda shook.” He stops Reid on the platform that separates the two flights of stairs up to the booth; it’s dark and relatively secluded, and they’ll be able to tell if someone’s coming. Cole still doesn’t know why he’s trying to be secretive when what he _actually_ wants to do is tell everyone how much Spencer and Kelsie suck over the PA system, but he feels like he should tell Reid first. Reid is club president; he might actually be able to do something about it.

So he takes a deep breath. “When I found Quinn’s hearing aids,” he tells him, “they were in Spencer’s stuff.”

Reid’s eyes widen, and, notably, he looks all at once like he is in the mood to do anything but joke. “ _No shit_.”

“It definitely wasn’t an accident, either,” Cole tells him. “Like— they were zippered into a compartment of his bag.”

Cole isn’t sure, in his two years of knowing him, that he’s ever seen Reid genuinely angry. But watching him react to this news has to be the closest he’s seen him come yet. Reid frowns, and then full-on scowls, and when he speaks, he’s not bothering to keep his voice low the way Cole tried to. Which he figured he wouldn’t, so Cole doesn’t really care. “Jesus Christ, that messy motherfucker— he must’ve hid them so _he_ could—”

“Yeah.” Cole exhales, sharply, and nods. With the truth out in the open, he feels better, like justice is going to be served. “So he could perform. Exactly.”

“Ho _lyyy_ shit.” Reid rubs his forehead. “Is this— fucking— high school? Is he serious?”

“Wait— also?” he adds, hastily. “I haven’t said anything to Quinn yet, because I asked him before the show if he wanted to get angry now or later, and he said later, so I haven’t gotten a second to talk to him—”

Reid nods. Cole can see him shifting into club president mode, like he’s about to be on a mission. “Do you want me to come with you to talk to Quinn?”

“I— think I saw him leave already.” Cole saw Quinn make a break for the booth with his mic pack right as they got offstage, which he’s pretty sure meant he was in a rush to get to the lobby. Maybe he has someone waiting for him. Cole knows his boyfriend came last night, but who knows. “If I couldn’t find him, I was gonna text him, but do you think that’s not the kind of thing you should text?”

“Well, text him if you can’t find him, but— _mmf_!” Reid shakes his head, still frowning, and makes a noise like he’s bottling up all his anger for safekeeping. “Can I go to Spencer? Because that is _severely_ fucked-up and not okay—”

“I mean— yeah, by all means.” Cole was sort of hoping this would happen. “Do you think we should tell Dr. C?”

“Oh, I _will_ be telling Dr. C,” Reid replies, and then starts down the second flight of stairs, beckoning for him to follow. “But first I want to find him. C’mon.”

*

_spencer_

_10:25 pm_

Spencer is packing up for the night when the dressing room door flies open.

It’s Reid, still costumed, and Spencer doesn’t have enough time to appreciate how peaceful things were in the dressing room a few moments prior before Reid is barking at him. “Hey, dipshit!” For maybe the first time Spencer can remember, Reid sounds _angry_ , which should be the first bad sign. But Spencer is too busy being bitter and folding his costume to recognize that before it all comes crashing down. “You mind if I talk to you?”

It hits him like a train. He’s spent the past two hours trying to brush off his paranoia about Cole’s discovery and just focus on the task at hand— the show— but now that the show is over, he has suspended himself in the temporary false hope that he might escape unscathed, that Cole might be too much of a coward to say anything.

Obviously, that hope was misplaced. Reid folds his arms, and Spencer is _sure_ he’s never seen him this angry before. His stomach ties into knots, and he puts on a front as best he can. The dressing room may be vacant but for the two of them, but maybe that just makes it worse. “What do you want?”

“Well, just so you know,” Reid begins, like this is rehearsed— which maybe it is, “I’m fully aware that Quinn’s hearing aids were in your bag, and I intend to make sure that Dr. C knows about it, too.”

Spencer’s face feels warm. He can keep acting, right? He can pretend. Reid doesn’t have any proof. It’s his word against Cole’s, and maybe— “Well, how do you know that?” he replies. “Who told you? The freak? He could be lying.”

“Spencer,” Reid spits, and it’s enough to knot his stomach up again. He feels cornered, pinned to the wall, despite Reid’s distance of a few feet from him. “You and I both know he’s not lying,” he says, and Spencer’s heart is pounding, and he feels like he’s watching a fire he himself lit burn out of control. “And another thing,” Reid says. “Make a misplaced comment about Cole one more time and I’ll personally make sure you’re removed from this production and the club altogether.”

“You can’t do that,” Spencer sputters; the mere thought is horrifying. Without this club, who is he?

“Actually,” Reid replies, “as club president, I absolutely can. I know you have a shitty attitude about this show, and that’s your choice, but that’s _no_ reason to be a bully to everybody like we’re in the eighth fucking grade. This is a new low. Grow up, dude.”

Spencer feels frozen in place. The heat in his face mixes with an overwhelming sense of dread, and he needs— he doesn’t even _know_ what he needs, a cold shower, maybe, something to shake this feeling, something to take his mind elsewhere; all he can do is stare back at Reid, who looks progressively sterner with each word that comes out of him.

“ _If_ ,” Reid says, still somehow speaking quietly despite how so obviously angry he is, “you apologize to Quinn, _sincerely_ , and make yourself useful for the rest of this production, I’ll _consider_ letting him decide if he wants to go to Dr. C about it or not.”

It’s a relief that only lasts a moment, because he has absolutely no idea what Reid would deem a sincere apology, much less what would count as one in the perfect eyes of Quinn Fucking Cooper. The thought of facing Quinn head-on— Quinn, who he _has_ seen angry before tonight, in rehearsal frustration context— makes his mouth dry.

“Can you just, like—” Reid shakes his head and pulls off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. His costume shirt, by the way. Not that he looks all that out-of-place in his costume clothes. “Not _do_ shit like that, Spence? Like, it’s just really fucking shitty— you know that, right?” Of all the things he thought he would be getting tonight, a shameful lecture from Reid was not among them. “You don’t want to fuck up your senior year run by being an idiot now.”

Spencer might be sweating. He isn’t sure. He shakes his head at Reid. “I, uh— yeah, I guess.” He feels so warm in the face; he needs to sit down. He hates himself for being rendered so helpless at Reid’s anger, but what else can he do? This entire night has gone to shit. The _production_ has gone to shit. Nothing is going his way.

“And I’m _serious_ ,” Reid says, “about apologizing to Quinn. Because you best believe he’s going to find out what happened. And I’ll see to it personally that Dr. C knows just who was responsible for the panic you caused her and the entire cast.”

The very last thing Spencer can think about right now is apologizing to Quinn. But when Reid leaves him alone in the dressing room, he knows he isn’t going to have much of a choice.

*

_quinn_

_10:20 pm_

Quinn is out in the lobby before he remembers Cole’s cryptic question.

In his defense, he has a _lot_ on his mind, and has for the past three hours. The hearing aid frenzy prior to curtain caused him anxiety, to be sure, and he most definitely does not care to ever go through something like _that_ before a show again in his life. But once he got out onstage, and channeled that lingering anxiety, used it for his character— he managed to get through a successful run. He’s not quite sure if he can put it up against last night, the opening, not because there’s any drastic difference between them (aside from tonight’s pre-show panic) but because he believes, at least from a personal standpoint, that the performances went equally well. He _did_ have a clumsy moment onstage with Claire at the tail-end of act I, but by the time he reaches the end of act II, it’s barely on his mind. His hearing aids, too, and the crisis surrounding them, are at least momentarily at the back of his mind.

Backstage after curtain call, he’s rushing. The reason for this is mostly that he knows he has a guest waiting for him in the lobby— a guest who took time out of his Saturday night to come and see this show off his own brief PR pitch alone. Last night, Sebastián came to see the show, and Quinn rushed out to the lobby to see him as well, to be sure— but Sebastián’s presence didn’t make him _nervous_ , didn’t intimidate him, didn’t pressure him to impress. That was support. This is a bit different— Nick, his senior mentor, has little to no connection to this drama department. True, he goes to this _school_ and everything, but he has no link to theatre, no reason to come see this show... besides Quinn. The only reason he _knows_ Quinn is because they were set up by a peer mentorship program.

Quinn doesn’t often have people who come to see a show for _him_. So he gets out to the lobby as quick as he can, to meet with Nick.

There’s a large crowd in the lobby, which is fantastic; just the same as last night, they managed to pack the house for the performance. Quinn worries, as he emerges into that crowd from the stage door, that he won’t be able to find his guest. The lobby is buzzing, and it’s so much sensory input at once; within moments, there are multiple people calling to him and waving.

“Hey, great job!”

“It was a fantastic show.”

“You were amazing!”

Quinn cannot lie. This attention could give someone quite the ego. “Thank you,” he tells people, as he makes his careful way through the crowd of strangers. “Thank you so much for coming.”

The issue with being short in a crowd, without the presence of the tall, lovely boyfriend you’ve gotten so used to having around, is that you can be swallowed if you aren’t careful. Quinn squints, and hunts the lobby as best he can. He knows well what Nick looks like; he's a sort of average height, but taller than Quinn, of course.

He squints, and rises on his tiptoes, tugging at the end of his white scarf. Perhaps he got the date wrong, of when he said he was coming. He’s just starting to panic a bit when, from over his shoulder, he picks up the faintest piece of his name being called. “Quinn!”

He turns, and, thank goodness, there he is, lingering just outside the edge of the crowd. He's in the Kiersey sweatshirt he wears all the time, and he's fidgeting a bit. Quinn feels a tad guilty for assuming he'd be in the throng; he knows Nick is autistic, should know that he wouldn't love that. They both understand sensory difficulties.

“Oh, goodness,” Quinn says, as he makes his way to him. “How long were you calling me? I’m so sorry.”

"Don't worry," Nick replies, with a shake of his head. "I knew you probably didn't hear me."

Quinn stops in front of him. "Thank you _so much_ for coming."

"The show was great," Nick says. He's actually smiling, which— well, it's not that Nick is a _grouchy_ or unhappy person; he's just often so stoic. To see him smile is a wholesome sight. "I'm glad I came. You're really good. Especially— you have a great voice?"

“Thank you.” He bows his head just a little. The high praise is nice; he’s always very grateful for it. This show has been a dream come true, from the moment Dr. C entrusted him with the lead. “You’re too kind.”

“It was, uh—” Nick laughs a little. “It was an emotional rollercoaster. But in a good way.”

Quinn laughs, too, and folds his hands behind his back. “I’m so grateful that you came,” he tells him. “Thank you for supporting the drama club. You really didn’t have to, and it was very kind of you.”

“Well, I'm your mentor,” Nick explains, like it's a scientific theorem he's figured out. “And acting's important to you, so I wanted to be a supportive senior. I'm serious; you're good. You should be on Broadway or something.”

“Broadway,” Quinn laughs. “I’m not sure that’s likely.” His support is so genuine and wholesome that, for the moment, it’s enough to completely forget about what happened before the show.

Until, some time later, when he pulls out his phone to text Nick and thank him for coming.

*

_Group: Quinn Cooper, Cole Kolinsky, Reid Burke_

_Saturday, 10:28 PM_

_Cole Kolinsky: hey quinn_

_Cole Kolinsky: are you still backstage?_

_Cole Kolinsky: i added reid to this bc he already knows_

_Cole Kolinsky: do you want to know what happened?_

_Quinn Cooper: Sorry— I rushed out to meet a guest I didn’t want to miss._

_Quinn Cooper: But yes, please; I’d like to know._

_Cole Kolinsky: okay_

_Cole Kolinsky: i found them in spencer’s stuff_

_Cole Kolinsky: like… zipped into his bag_

_Cole Kolinsky: it was obviously on purpose_

_Reid Burke: I already yelled at him_

_Reid Burke: But we want to know what you want to do next_

_Quinn Cooper: Hold on. He took them?_

_Quinn Cooper: Where are you two? Are you still in the building?_

_Cole Kolinsky: yes we’re in the lobby_

_Quinn Cooper: I’m coming to meet you._

*

_quinn_

The next morning, Sunday, Quinn is still reeling.

He spends a solid twenty minutes backstage after Beckett clears out on Saturday night, with Cole and Reid, processing the truth of what happened to his hearing aids. Yes, he reacts a little dramatically— but in the presence of only these two friends, he doesn’t really mind being dramatic. He had to go so quickly, before the show, from the mortified resignation that he wouldn’t be able to perform to kicking back into performance mode and going out to start the show almost immediately. This didn’t give him a ton of time to process what actually happened; he had no idea what Spencer had done, when he went out to perform. With the show over, all the stress and embarrassment of the pre-show hour comes surging back, and he gets… _angry_.

He’s so angry with Spencer. He’s had a terrible attitude for the entire show, to be sure, but some people are nasty, and Quinn had long since put that fact away neatly before the incident of Saturday night. He figured that Spencer was just going to have a bad attitude, and wasn’t letting that affect his own experience of the show.

Until, of course, Spencer tried to directly interfere with his experience of the show. In a very big way.

Yes, he was unsuccessful. But Quinn knows that Spencer was _only_ unsuccessful because of Cole’s vigilance, a thing he is extremely grateful to Cole for. And yes, it would have been one performance had he _been_ successful, and there are five performances. But performances are precious, and Quinn wants every single one of them. Especially on this show. This is his first college show, the show of his heart, a real way for him to prove himself to all of these new and wonderful people.

So, no. He’s not taking this lightly. And that’s how he winds up still angry on Sunday morning.

Call time for their matinée is at 11:45, but they have a cast breakfast beforehand. Thank goodness, Spencer— and Kelsie with him— must be shaken up enough not to show up, so Quinn gets to have breakfast with everybody in non-passive-aggressive peace. He agreed, with Reid and Cole last night, that he didn’t want to spill the truth to the whole club until after they got the chance to go to Dr. C about it. Jhiron knows, and Maggie knows, but that’s all. For now.

They will have to handle this. But for now, they have a show to do. So Quinn sits at breakfast with Maggie on his left and Cole on his right, and eats his waffle in peace, and gets ready for the wonderful performance-week thing of doing it all over again.

*

_spencer_

Spencer is not afraid of Quinn Fucking Cooper.

He isn’t. He’s wary of Dr. C, to be sure, but Quinn has absolutely no power over him, and he will not be afraid of him. He’s a stuck-up ginger in a scarf, pint-sized and freckle-faced, and Spencer refuses to be intimidated by him.

But this matinée is testing him.

It’s not… Quinn _himself_ ; that much, Spencer knows. It’s more the awareness, after Reid’s tirade last night, that Quinn knows what he did— what he tried to do— and that Quinn has the power to make other people aware of that. He shows up to call time, after avoiding cast breakfast, and fears for a moment as he walks through the stage door that he’ll be faced with an army led by the scarf-wearer himself.

He isn’t. As he walks with Kelsie past his various castmates and the crew, they react to him as normal. The more people he sees, the more the paranoia dissolves.

The men’s dressing room is a slightly different story. He walks inside with his bag to find Quinn talking to Cole, Reid, and Danny, and the conversation evaporates as soon as he walks through the door. He can feel their eyes on him, as he walks to his spot and puts his bag down.

Quinn speaks first. He’s the picture of composure. “Good morning, Spencer.”

He clears his throat, which feels tighter than it should, and doesn’t meet Quinn’s eyes but gives him a cursory glance. “Morning.”

Reid lounges back in his chair, folding his arms. He has a Converse sneaker up on his section of the counter, and he literally _scowls_ , something Spencer has never seen him do. “Skipped cast breakfast, huh, dude?”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Like you wanted me there.”

Reid’s eyebrows shoot up, and he holds up his hands, kind of chuckling. “My bad.”

Spencer will not deal with Reid today. In fact, he’s done dealing with Reid in general. He’ll be gone in two months, and from that point, he’ll never have to see him again.

Good riddance.

Cole and Quinn don’t look fazed by this interaction, but poor Danny looks confused. Spencer realizes this must mean that Danny has no idea what’s going on, which means he might be able to get him on his side. Danny has always been his favorite other guy in the club, because he’s the least weird.

Quinn barely says much to him, through the whole show preparation process, which is a relief. Spencer is starting to think that laying low won’t be so difficult, that he can get through the rest of this awful production without having to face the music.

The closest Quinn gets to actually _confronting_ him at all, the entire afternoon, is after sound check. Spencer is sitting in his corner, on his phone, with only Quinn and Cole in the room. Quinn stands by his spot at the vanity, looking at himself in the mirror for a moment, and then, out of nowhere, he says, “Hey, Spencer?”

“Uh.” He almost drops his phone, in his surprise, and jolts up like the anxiety can straighten his spine. “What?”

Quinn turns to him; he’s _smiling_ , an expression that looks artificial. “I’m going backstage to meditate,” he tells him, “and I’m going to leave my hearing aids right here.” He taps the center of his counter spot, and Spencer’s stomach turns. “Could you just make sure nobody moves them?”

Spencer blinks. He’s conscious that Cole, too, is looking right at him. His face feels hotter than the lights onstage. He’s quiet for too long, and he blinks again, then stumbles over his words. Never in his life has he been this ineloquent. “Sure.”

“Great.” Quinn’s smile widens. The lights on the vanity make him glow. Has that blue polo really always fit him that well? “Thank you,” he adds, and reaches for his ears to pull them out.

Spencer doesn’t dare even _look_ at their case, the entire time he’s gone.

*

_quinn_

The show goes wonderfully, and Quinn is walking on air. This weekend, all things considered, could not have gone better. Three shows of the five are done, and Quinn can’t believe it, but he also isn’t sure he could be happier with his own performance. He wanted to make an impression on this theatre department— and goodness, he thinks he’s doing it.

It’s enough to almost let him forget about the anger, at least in the bubble of the matinée. When it’s over, he packs up and neatens his things in the dressing room, since he won’t be touching them until they convene for a touch-up rehearsal on Tuesday. He emerges from the stage door with Cole, whose mom is here and meets them in the lobby crowd. She’s a very kind lady, and she brings out the biggest genuine smile he’s ever seen on Cole, which is a heartwarming thing to witness.

Quinn parts ways with Cole and his mom and keeps making his way through the crowd, towards the door— but before he can reach it, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes what he intends as a cursory glance at it, but has to do a double take at the screen.

_iMessage_

_4:19 PM_

_Sebastián♥️: hey baby_

_Sebastián♥️: turn around_

So Quinn does, and there, against the far wall by the box office, is his boyfriend. Smiling and waving, in his Kiersey Hockey jacket, Sebastián is a surprise at this particular show; Quinn thought he wouldn’t be home in time from his road game to make it. He darts through the remaining people that separate them, and flies into his waiting arms. “Hello!” he cries, laughing into his chest. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“We made good time on the way back,” Sebastián explains, giving him a tight squeeze. “Figured I would surprise you.”

“Thank you!” Quinn can’t help it; he’s still laughing. “Thank you so much, honey. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, baby.” He feels Sebastián press a kiss to the top of his head, which might get him a taste of hairspray, which wouldn’t taste particularly good, but Sebastián doesn’t seem to care. Quinn looks up to meet his eyes as he adds, “It was just as good the second time.”

Quinn raises a playful eyebrow, smiling up at him. “Did you cry?”

“Wow,” Sebastián replies, chirping right back, true hockey boy that he is. “You don’t really waste any time, huh? You’re out to kill _all_ my feelings.”

“Oh, Sebastián, don’t be silly.” He presses a hand flat to his chest. “I would only ever break your heart in character.”

Sebastián laughs, and sweeps him right off his feet for a kiss. Quinn wraps his legs around his waist. It feels a little like Friday night, opening night, all over again. “Thank you,” he repeats, when they pull away. “For coming. I’m so grateful for your support.”

“It was great, baby.” Sebastián grins at him, and _goodness_ , Quinn has completely fallen in love with him, and he wonders for a second if he should say it out loud, here and now. Neither of them have yet, but Quinn has lost count of the number of times he’s thought it. _I love you. I love you._ He wants to tell him. This boy has stolen his whole heart.

But then Sebastián’s demeanor changes, just a little, and his gaze darts from side to side. “Hey,” he whispers. “Where’s Spencer? You want me to kick his ass?”

“Oh, goodness, honey,” Quinn mumbles, and the irritation, hurt, and anger all come surging back. “I’m not sure where he is.”

“Let’s find him.” Sebastián puts him down on his own feet again, and sort of bounces, searching the room by advantage of his height. “I saw him onstage. He’s, like, scrawny as fuck. Let me at him. I could end his career.”

“Sebastián,” he whispers. “I can’t let you do that. You’ll get in trouble.”

“But—” When he looks down to Quinn again, his gaze is bordering on puppy-dog eyes, and he frowns. “But you’re my baby, and he messed with you, and no one messes with my—”

“My dear,” he says, calmly, and again he wants to fill the empty space between his words with _I love you_. “I promise you that I will do everything I can to ensure he gets his. I just can’t do it this afternoon, so you have to hold off. For now.”

“For now,” Sebastián echoes.

He tips his head to the side and takes a moment, then, at the risk of explaining his entire plan, remarks, “I may want to utilize you for intimidation purposes.”

Sebastián grins again. “Oh, now we’re talking, _cariño_.”

It occurs to Quinn, as Sebastián gives him another, quicker kiss, that he has had _quite_ the eventful weekend. He rests against him and holds his hand as Sebastián adds, “Seriously, though, the show was great. Your voice— it’s something else, baby.”

He smiles. “Thank you.”

“Do you wanna come to dinner?” he asks. “With me and the guys. I totally get it if you’d rather just rest, though.”

He looks up to squint at him. “Define ‘the guys’.” It’s not at all that he’s _opposed_ to any of Sebastián’s teammates; it’s just that a team dinner with all of Kiersey Men’s Hockey sounds a tad overwhelming for his three-show weekend Sunday night.

“Oh.” Sebastián nods. “Just Remy and Rho.”

 _That_ sounds much less chaotic. It’ll still be a bit chaotic by definition, because it includes Ben, and not only Ben but Ben and Sebastián together, and those phenomena are inherently, well… quite an experience. But Quinn has grown to call Ben and Remy his friends, where they began as his boyfriend’s intimidating teammates, and he thinks having dinner with them would be a nice way to finish the weekend.

“I’d love that,” Quinn replies, and so Sebastián leads him by the hand through the lobby and out into the spring afternoon.

*

_Group: Quinn Cooper, Sebastián Hernandez, Ben Shaley, Remy Tremblay_

_7:02 PM_

_Ben Shaley: hey thanks for coming to dinner q_

_Ben Shaley: and on a related note_

_Ben Shaley: do you want me to kill that guy for you?_

_Ben Shaley: because it sounds like he sucks and i will totally kill that guy for you_

_Remy Tremblay: ^^^^^^_

_Quinn Cooper: Hahaha, thank you both._

_Quinn Cooper: And I do appreciate it. I just think I want to handle this on my own… to the best of my ability._

_Quinn Cooper: But if there are developments tomorrow, I may take you up on that offer..._

_Ben Shaley: hell yeah_

_Ben Shaley: that’s what i’m talkin about_

_Remy Tremblay: We actually will kill him_

_Quinn Cooper: I’ll bring Sebastián for intimidation._

_Sebastián Hernandez: happy to assist😌😌_

*

_Group: Quinn Cooper, Cole Kolinsky, Reid Burke_

_8:20 PM_

_Quinn Cooper: Hello, you two…_

_Quinn Cooper: I was wondering if you’d both be okay coming with me if I go to Dr. C tomorrow._

_Quinn Cooper: I’m about to send her an email asking to meet with her._

_Cole Kolinsky: yeah i’ll go_

_Reid Burke: ^^^ Same here_

_Reid Burke: With you all the way_

_Quinn Cooper: Thank you both._

_Quinn Cooper: I’ll copy you on the message. When can you NOT meet?_

_Reid Burke: Up for doing it in the morning?_

_Reid Burke: When’s your first class?_

_Quinn Cooper: 8:30_

_Cole Kolinsky: i don’t have class until 2:30_

_Reid Burke: Okay_

_Reid Burke: How’s 9:45ish?_

_Reid Burke: She comes in at 9 most days_

_Quinn Cooper: That works for me._

_Cole Kolinsky: me too_

_Quinn Cooper: I’ll email her now._

*

_Outgoing Mail_

_Sunday, 3/24/2019, 9:01 PM_

_FROM:[qcooper22@kiersey.edu](mailto:qcooper21@samwell.edu)_

_TO:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_CC:_ [ _rburke19@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:rburke18@samwell.edu) _;_ [ _ckolinsky21@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:ckolinsky20@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: Meeting tomorrow?_

_Dear Dr. C,_

_Please forgive me for the late hour of this email. I’m reaching out to see if it might be possible for me to come in and meet with you tomorrow morning. Would it be alright if I stopped by your office at 9:45? I have a small concern as to something that happened this weekend, and I think it would be best for me to explain in person. Reid and Cole have offered to join me, since they were each involved in a certain incident I was hoping I might be able to make you aware of._

_Sincerely,_

_Quinn Cooper_

*

_New Message_

_Monday, 3/25/2019, 10:13 AM_

_FROM:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_TO:_ [ _sbergen20@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:sbergen19@samwell.edu)

_BCC:_ [ _qcooper22@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:qcooper21@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: Meeting_

_Dear Spencer,_

_Please come to my office this afternoon at your convenience for a meeting. I believe you don’t have any classes at the 4 PM hour; am I correct?_

_Dr. C_

*

_Outgoing Mail_

_Monday, 3/25/2019, 10:29 AM_

_FROM:_ [ _sbergen20@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:sbergen19@samwell.edu)

_TO:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: RE: Meeting_

_Hi Dr. C,_

_Yes, I can do 4PM. I’ll be there. Is everything okay?_

_\- Spencer_

*

_New Message_

_Monday, 3/25/2019, 10:30 AM_

_FROM:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_TO:_ [ _sbergen20@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:sbergen19@samwell.edu)

_BCC:_ [ _qcooper22@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:qcooper21@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: RE: Meeting_

_Perfect— I’ll see you at 4:00. There’s a matter I need to discuss with you._

*

_spencer_

Spencer feels sick.

He starts feeling sick from the second he sees there’s a new email from Dr. C in his inbox Monday morning, and then continues feeling sick as they have their brief email exchange, and then feels sick all afternoon. He’s so nervous that he wonders if he could actually _use_ being sick as an excuse not to make it to the meeting. But he figures that if he does that, he’ll still have to go to _some_ meeting, eventually— and he’d rather just get it out of the way now.

He goes through his entire day on the constant verge of panic. He isn’t, and never has been, an anxious person, but today, his racing mind won’t let him be. What will she say? How did she find out? Is it possible that this meeting _isn’t_ about the weekend’s debacle? She’s never been that cold to him over email before. It has to be about this.

Who said something? It must have been Quinn. Reid told him he was going to let Quinn decide what he wanted to do about it, and for as much as Reid bothers and annoys him, Spencer has no reason not to take him at his word. He can’t even imagine the thought of Quinn sitting Dr. C down and slandering his character— oh, _God_ , he feels so sick. He can’t do this. He can’t attend this meeting.

But 4 PM creeps closer, and he knows that if he wants any semblance of a future, any salvaged hope in this drama club and this theatre program, he has absolutely no choice.

He just needs to keep his composure, once he gets into her office. So that’s what he resigns to do. Acting is what he does best.

The walk to Beckett from his apartment at 4:00 feels a little like the walk of shame. But, he reminds himself, no one _knows_ where he’s going or what he did, save himself, and maybe Dr. C on the other side. With her, alone, he might be able to make her see his side of things, or at least sympathize with his situation. He has hope. He can do this. He no longer feels sick.

Until he walks into the building.

There’s nothing all that ordinary about the space at first glance. The _Dear Evan Hansen_ posters are everywhere, and the front-of-house table next to the box office is clear evidence of an ongoing production. But as he approaches Dr. C’s office, he sees a person who definitely does not belong in this building, sitting on one of the benches outside her door.

It’s a guy, huge and Hispanic-looking, in the unmistakable getup of an athlete, hockey team jacket to prove it. He has curly hair, and he’s pretty chubby, but he also looks _terrifyingly_ strong, like he could throw Spencer across the room with minimal effort. And with the way he gets stared down by this guy as he walks towards Dr. C’s office, he has a feeling that might be something he’s considering.

He knows this guy, albeit not personally. He’s been the subject of several castwide conversations, and he’s all over Quinn Fucking Cooper’s Instagram. This his hockey boyfriend. Of course. Because that’s what Spencer needs right now.

He tries to ignore him, but he can _feel_ himself being watched. The hockey boyfriend on one side, and Dr. C’s office door on the other, are like Scylla and Charybdis. He’s so tense with avoiding this guy’s gaze that something very crucial doesn’t at all sink in— something he _should_ realize, as soon as he sees what’s-his-face sitting on the bench.

Because that’s Quinn’s boyfriend. And why would Quinn’s boyfriend be in Beckett unless—

— unless Quinn were also somewhere in the building.

Dr. C’s office door is half-open, and he almost knocks, but chooses not to at the sound of conversation within. It’s more like laughing, actually; he thinks at first that she might be on the phone. But when he opens the door all the way, he is not nearly prepared for what he finds inside.

Because yes, Dr. C is talking to someone. But that someone happens to be Quinn Fucking Cooper, in the flesh, sitting in one of the chairs across from her desk. They’re chummy, both smiling and joking, like old buddies. Spencer sees his freshman self, in this interaction. This is exactly how he and Dr. C were before this musical season. Before _Dear Evan Hansen_. Before Quinn Fucking Cooper.

The air sucks out of the room as he enters, and they both fall scarily sober of any laugh. “Spencer, hello,” Dr. C says, and then, “Please— have a seat.”

“Afternoon, Dr. C.” He tries so hard to stay calm, to stay cool, despite Quinn’s presence. He doesn’t know if he should greet him, but Quinn is looking his way and he knows it, so unlike with his boyfriend outside, Spencer doesn’t ignore him. “Uh… hi, Quinn.”

Quinn crosses his legs and folds his hands on his knee, like a perfectly-dressed, pointy-nosed supervillain. “Hello.”

Dr. C leans forward on her desk, folding her hands, too, and looks between the both of them. She takes a long, deep breath before she says, “I think you both know why we’re here.”

Spencer swallows, and his throat is dry. Dr. C doesn’t really give them an opportunity to answer before she adds, “I understand that there was an issue this weekend, and that you two were involved.”

Her use of _you two_ is cause for hope, even if it’s fleeting. Spencer looks briefly to Quinn and wonders if he, too, was called to this meeting without knowledge of what it was going to be like. If maybe Reid _did_ break his word, and go to Dr. C without going through Quinn. Or if Cole ratted out the situation. It seems like Cole to do that, sensitive weirdo that he is. He’s gone to Reid and called Kelsie a transphobe before.

But Quinn looks… too _calm_ , maybe, to have been called here spontaneously. His hands are still on his knee, and he nods at Dr. C, not even looking Spencer’s way. The guy is like a Goddamned marionette. His every move is so formal and calculated that it has to be a façade.

He’s so caught up in looking at Quinn that it takes Dr. C speaking again for him to snap out of it. “Some concerned cast members reached out to me,” she says, and Spencer looks her way in time for her to add, “and I thought it would be best to get the two of you in the same room.”

This is heart-poundingly vague, and still doesn’t give him any insight into just how much trouble this meeting means for him. Until Quinn turns on him, and, so calmly, says, “Spencer.”

Spencer is not focusing on the way his name sounds in Quinn’s voice like that.

“I know what you did to me,” Quinn says, which isn’t a _surprise_ but still makes his chest tighten. “And so do a few other people.” He takes a short breath. “You caused me a lot of embarrassment and anxiety, and I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself.”

Oh, how fucking _noble_ of him. Spencer doesn’t scowl, but _God_ , he wants to. A chance to explain himself? Sure. He can do that. He has a million explanations for what he did, all of them relevant, but none so prevalent in this moment as _I hate you, Quinn Cooper_.

“I…” When he tries to speak, his words seem to fizzle out before him. Dr. C is watching like a hawk, and he knows it. Quinn is the picture of composure. Of course he is. Spencer has never seen him _not_ be perfect. “Uh.”

“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know what we’re talking about,” Quinn adds, and Spencer feels his face heat up. He hopes to every deity that he’s not blushing.

“No, I… I know,” he says, finally getting a grip on the English language. “I know what you mean.”

Quinn lets him be silent. Dr. C is the one who speaks next. “And?” she asks. “What do you have to say?”

It’s exactly the kind of thing an elementary school teacher says when you hurt your classmate’s feelings and they want you to apologize. Spencer will not apologize— at least, not to Quinn. He looks to Dr. C instead, and starts his lament. “I… I’m sorry,” he says. “I just… I loved the show so much, and I wanted to be able to participate.” He hangs his head and shakes it. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I don’t think ‘I wasn’t thinking’ is a sufficient explanation,” Dr. C says, slowly. “This kind of stunt requires a certain amount of planning. And you did plan it.” She gives a pointed pause, as his stomach knots itself up. “Didn’t you?”

 _Busted._ His every fear is being realized, right in front of his face. There’s no use denying it, so he keeps on the act of shame. “Yeah, I planned it.”

There’s another moment of awful silence in the office, and then, from next to him, Quinn’s voice is a little softer, but every bit as scrutinous. “I don’t expect you to be able to fully understand this,” he says, “because you’re a hearing person, but do you realize how dehumanizing it is to think that you can determine what I can and can’t do?”

“Uh.” He’s being lectured, and he knows it, and he’s past caring about whether what he did was dehumanizing. It had nothing to do with Quinn being deaf. He would have tried to find a way to perform no matter what it meant he had to do. “Yeah.”

Quinn leans forward in his chair. “So why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to perform,” he replies, which is the truth. “I wasn’t—” He shakes his head and breaks eye contact with him, then looks back to Dr. C and repeats, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” she says, cold and clearly unwilling to sympathize. “I’m not the person you wronged.”

“But I didn’t mean to cause such a castwide panic,” he offers.

“Well, you should have thought that through,” she replies. “I am _extremely_ disappointed in you, Spencer. I expect better from my cast members. I expected better from _you_.”

It’s such a cliché, but her calm disappointment feels worse than he imagines a biting anger would. He shrinks into his seat and lets it come. It’s best to get it over with.

“I know that you weren’t happy with my casting decision this spring, Spencer,” she says, “and I understand that it can be disappointing as an upperclassman not to get a role you’d hoped for. But I’m not in the business of letting this drama club become as petty as some kind of high school theatre production. Not everybody will get the lead every time, and not everybody will always be happy, but there’s no need to react the way you did. We are mature adults, college students. _Not_ children.” Spencer feels sick again. “There’s no reason to bully each other like children. If you’re unhappy with your standing in this club, I suggest that you no longer be a part of it.”

He scrambles to sit up. “I want to be here,” he says. “It’s not— I don’t want to no longer be in the club.”

“Well, I suggest you look into adjusting your attitude,” Dr. C replies. “Because it’s no secret to any of your castmates, or to me, that you haven’t been happy participating in this production. And what happened on Saturday was the final straw. It could not go without addressing.”

He hates this so much. To think, none of it would be happening if it weren’t for nosy, creepy Cole. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you,” she says, with a brisk shake of her head. “It is not me you owe an apology.”

He side-eyes Quinn, who’s still sitting up straight, his nose wrinkled. A prince, actually, is more his demeanor than a marionette. Stuck-up royalty, whose life is perfect, who always gets his way. “I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters, and Quinn shakes his head.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you until I know you mean it,” Quinn replies, which is one of the most stupid things Spencer has ever heard, because he _literally just apologized_ to him. How can Quinn know he doesn’t mean it? (He doesn’t, but. Still.)

“Spencer, I’m very sorry to say this,” Dr. C adds, “but I believe this incident can’t go without repercussion.”

His stomach knots up again, and he looks her way. “What do you mean?”

She takes a deep breath, which is so fucking _dramatic_ of her, honestly, before she lets it out and says, “Seeing as you’re clearly not prepared to be a leader, I’ve decided to bar your candidacy for club president next year.”

Oh.

_Oh._

This— _this_ is what really makes him sick. Getting chewed out is one thing. Having to bear Quinn looking at him like that is one thing. Even the damage to his bond with Dr. C is one thing— but _this_ , this is another thing entirely. This affects his _life_ , in this theatre program. She can’t be serious. “But Dr. C—” he says, in a hurry. “I’m going to be a senior.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And?”

“Seniors lead the club,” he supplies, which she knows.

“Well, if you wanted to lead this club,” Dr. C says, “you should have thought that over before doing what you did on Saturday. Because you certainly did not demonstrate the qualities of a leader.”

Oh, _God_. He feels so sick. He can’t even look her in the eye. There it is— his entire senior year, ruined. Because of Quinn. Because of this show. Because he wanted to perform one night of the show that was selected for him, and taken out from under him. “Who’s— Who’s going to be president next year if it’s not me?”

Dr. C is icy cold. “I’m sure the club will choose someone best suited to the position.”

She can’t do this. She can’t actually let this happen. “Dr. C—”

“Spencer, it’s not up for debate.” She moves some papers on her desk, brisk in her motions, and adds, “Your attitude about this entire production speaks volumes. Your castmates have noticed, and don’t think I haven’t noticed as well.”

“I just—” He’s falling to the ground. He flew too close to the sun. “I just wanted to perform.”

She shakes her head. “There are _plenty_ of ways to perform without petty sabotage of others’ roles.”

 _Ouch._ His stomach hurts. He’s red in the face. He’s ready for this meeting to be over.

But lucky for him, it seems like she and Quinn are, too. She looks to him and asks, “Quinn, is there anything else you wanted to add?”

Spencer can barely look at him right now, but in his peripheral vision, he sees Quinn take a deep, thoughtful breath, like the stuck-up being he is, and finally, he says, “I just really hope you can understand that you hurt me.”

In the pause Quinn takes, Spencer manages to look up. He’s burning in the face, and he no longer cares. He’s losing everything, right in front of his eyes. As if this semester weren’t already bad enough on the theatre front.

God, what is Kelsie going to say?

“And I never had anything against you,” Quinn adds. His use of the past tense isn’t lost on Spencer, but he is— or he _should_ be, wants to be— _so far past_ wanting Quinn Fucking Cooper to like him.

He doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need his approval. But he desperately wants to win back Dr. C’s.

He has no idea where he would even begin.

She dismisses them from her office pretty shortly thereafter, and Spencer can’t even manage to get the courtesy of a goodbye out of her. Instead, she says, “No rehearsal tonight, so rest up,” which he knows is mainly directed at Quinn.

“Thank you, Dr. C,” he catches Quinn say, in a low voice, which he’s pretty confident isn’t just about her direction to rest up.

He set this whole thing up. Spencer walked right into the worst mousetrap of the century.

His life is _over_.

All he wants is to go back to his apartment. He’s not the napping type, but falling into bed and going to sleep sounds extremely appealing right now. He has a few texts from Kelsie in his lock screen, wondering how the meeting went, but he can’t even think how to begin to explain it to her.

He’s going back to his room. He thinks he’s in the clear. He thinks it’s all over, which, at least, is a good thing. Inasmuch as something about today can be good.

Quinn’s boyfriend is still sitting outside, and Quinn walks right to him, giving him a kiss on the cheek that makes Spencer’s stomach knot up all over again. It’s hard to watch, and shouldn’t be. He has a girlfriend. He’s perfectly happy.

“I’ll be right back,” he catches Quinn saying, and then Quinn walks away and into the bathroom over by the side exit door.

It’s only then, alone in the lobby with the boyfriend, that Spencer realizes he’s just walked into _another_ trap. He tries to make a break for it, but before he can, the guy goes, “Hey.”

His arms are folded, and he’s _tall_ as he stands up from the bench, much taller than even Spencer, who considers himself a respectable height. He does not cower, but there’s really only so much cool you can maintain when a monster-sized Latino dude is staring you down like he wants to beat you up.

He cracks his knuckles. All he says is, “You better watch your back if you ever think about fucking with him again, man.”

Spencer doesn’t need to be told twice. He makes a break for the exit, because he wants to finish this day in one piece. He can feel the menacing gaze on him, as he goes. It’s motivation to pick up the pace.

It doesn’t matter. Hockey guy doesn’t need to worry, and neither does he.

Because from now on, he is going to stay far, far away from Quinn Fucking Cooper.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! You can always yell at me, through any method your heart desires. Thank you so much for reading. <3


End file.
